I'm not in Denial
by MamaLaz
Summary: Ron/Draco - After escaping to Hogwarts from Malfoy Manor, Draco Malfoy not only encounters threats of expulsion and disembowelment, but a threat on his masculinity, too. Stupid Gorgeous Weasel! First book in the Denial Series.
1. Before the Incident

**Rating:** _I'll say R, just to be safe. Don't think I'm going to hazard a NC-17  
_**Pairing :** _Draco/Ron  
_**Disclaimer :** _They're all the talented J.K. Rowling's. I don't own anyone. Not even my cat. She prefers my sister_.  
**Warning :** _SLASH! If you don't like the idea of m/m, then I don't think this story is for you._   
**Archive :** _Just ask me. :)_

* * *

**Harry – Chocolate Frogs and Howlers**

Harry looked up as Ron entered the Great Hall for breakfast and sent a smile at his friend as the flushed redhead slipped breathlessly into his usual seat. 

"Slept in, Ron?" Harry asked, a teasing smile on his face as Ron held the edge of the table in support, taking deep gulps of air. He had obviously run all the way from the Gryffindor tower again, considering the red freckled face and desperate wheezing. Hermione lowered her enormous book on the 'Mating Habits of Hippogriffs' (Harry shuddered at the imagery) and presented a still winded Ron with one of her best looks of disapproval. 

"It's the third time this week, Ron," she pointed out, as though Ron had not been aware of it. Harry threw Ron a sympathetic look but chewed contentedly on his toast, happy in the knowledge that the brunt of Hermione's exasperation wouldn't be on him today. Ron rolled his eyes as he patted his chest; coughing a few times to finally get his breath considerably back. 

"S'not my fault!" he pouted in frustration, still recovering. "My awakening charm didn't work…!" 

"You _mean_ you didn't cast it correctly," Hermione put right, closing her book with a loud thump. Harry placed the now dust-covered remains of his toast back onto his plate, making a face. Ron muttered something that sounded terribly like _'Girls'_ to Harry but knew not to say it loud enough to reach Hermione's ever-attentive ears. 

Flicking her bushy hair from her shoulder to her back, she sighed and scowled at the belated boy but Harry could see soft endearment in her honey-coloured eyes. "You better eat something before Potions starts, Ron," she said more gently, though her voice still had an air of sternness about it. "I don't want your noisy stomach losing us any more points from Gryffindor." However, Ron was looking off into random space with a hungry look in his eye. 

"Merlin, I could murder a chocolate frog..." he said, the dreamy look only broken by another violent growl from his stomach. 

Harry's new slice of toast suddenly looked a lot less appealing. Just five more Wizard cards and he would have as many as Ron, though Harry did have to remind himself that most of his cards were given to him by Ron because his best friend already had 'seven of that card'. Hermione looked at Ron as though he'd just declared that he wanted to eat a raw blast-ended skrewt instead. 

"Ron, it's 8:30!" 

Ron shrugged, ignoring her severe look as Harry just smiled at Hermione's shaking bushy head and inaudible mutters. No matter how much they told each other off, Harry knew how much Ron and Hermione truly liked each other. Every time Harry thought of last year's Yule Ball he had to suppress a laugh, remembering the look on Ron's face when he first noticed that that pretty girl on the arm of his favourite seeker, Viktor Krum, was in fact his other best friend. Harry truly didn't think Ron knew who he was more jealous of at first; Hermione was getting to talk, dance and laugh with one of Ron's heroes but Krum had been quick enough to ask Hermione before Ron did. 

_"Bloody seeker like reflexes…"_ Ron had muttered to Harry at the Ball, who just rolled his eyes and turned them to the less welcome image of Cho Chang dancing with Cedric Diggory. Cedric Diggory… 

Suddenly, Ron looked up and across the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, intent on searching for something with his eyes. On quickly finding it, he scowled. Harry noted that his best friend's eyes were looking straight at the Slytherin table and the bespectacled wizard didn't need to guess which certain blond-haired boy had caused such a reaction. 

"Bloody Malfoy," Ron growled as he stabbed his fork into his now massacred scrambled eggs. "He'll get his owl of like a thousand Frogs any bloody moment now." Both Harry and Hermione warily looked at Ron as they expected him to go off on one about how poor he was. They really didn't know what to say when Ron mentioned money, especially Harry who had a vault at Gringotts that was nearly bursting with gold. Harry had told Ron thousands of times that he was a hundred times better than those Malfoys and always tried to share his fortune with the Weasleys, who he loved like his own family, but they never accepted and Ron was far too proud to ever take it anyway. 

However, Ron didn't start talking about his financial situation as a sly smile slowly crept on his face. "I sometimes wish that Dobby still worked for the evil little git, you know. He loves you so much, Harry, that I bet he wouldn't think twice about poisoning Malfoy's bundle…" 

"Ron!" Hermione tried to give him a don't-joke-about-that look but Harry could see the underlying smile. 

"Oh, alright… _Not _poisoning…" Ron continued grumpily, looking slightly putout that Hermione wouldn't let him openly fantasise about Draco Malfoy dying a slow and painful death. "But he could at least kick it about in the mud for a couple of hours before packing it." 

Their laughter was soon drowned out by the sound of hundreds of flapping wings and echoing hoots. 

Mail. 

Owls soared into Hall and dropped packages of every shape and size to the lines of students. Ron was too busy loathing Malfoy and watching closely for the Slytherin's package without noticing that Pig happily hooted and dropped his own on his flaming red head. However, Ron didn't seem to have even noticed his rolled up issue of _The_ _Daily Prophet_ as his blue eyes brightened so widely that Harry was afraid he was Petrified. 

"I don't believe it!" Ron looked as though Christmas had come early. "Malfoy's got a Howler!" 

Harry and Hermione turned to the Slytherin table in disbelief at Ron's delighted words to observe that they weren't the only ones. Malfoy was holding the familiar red envelope in his hand and looking even paler than usual. He looked as though he was going to throw up the breakfast he had just spent so long eating. Crabbe and Goyle, on either side of him, made him look even smaller and more terrified looking; each staring at the envelope stupidly. It wouldn't have surprised Harry if they didn't know what it was; they were infamous for being incredibly slow on the uptake. Without another word Malfoy had jumped from his seat and bolted out the Great Hall and into a nearby corridor. Even if you were battling with the giant squid outside you could still hear the message as Lucius Malfoy's magically magnified voice shook the entire building like a particularly nasty earthquake. 

"RUNNING AWAY FROM HOME?! YOU'RE LUCKY YOU WENT BEFORE I GOT TO YOU, BOY! BRINGING SHAME UPON THE FAMILY BY REFUSING THE FAMILY TRADE AND DISTRESSING YOUR MOTHER! YOU'RE NO SON OF MINE! DON'T EVEN CONSIDER COMING BACK HERE BEFORE THE SUMMER, UNLESS YOU ENJOY LIVING! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! AND IF YOUR GRADES DON'T IMPROVE, DRACO, THEN YOU'LL BE HOME AND DEALT WITH BEFORE YOU CAN COME UP WITH ANOTHER PITIFUL EXCUSE!" 

The silence afterwards was almost thunderous and Harry thought maybe the Howler had rendered him temporarily deaf. Nobody in the hall laughed, as they oft did, when someone received a Howler. Even Ron sat there, mouth open, unable to believe that perfectly spoilt Draco Malfoy had done something to upset his father. Hermione was the first person to speak at the deathly hushed Gryffindor table. 

"Malfoy ran away from home?" 

"What did he mean by 'dealt with'?" Ron asked, out of his stupor. Harry looked at Ron in slight surprise. He thought that Ron, of all people, would be enjoying this; after all, Ron was the only person who probably hated Malfoy more than Harry. "I mean… did you hear his voice?" Ron continued with a shudder to emphasise his point. "He sounded _way_ too serious about the killing thing." 

Harry nodded. Lucius Malfoy _did _sound deadly serious and Harry was never gladder that he wasn't Draco Malfoy than at that particular moment… but it was still bugging him. The thing that stuck out the most in his mind was the 'Family Trade' Mr Malfoy had mentioned. Harry knew all to well that Draco's father was a Death Eater. He'd seen it himself, had heard his voice when Voldemort addressed him last year… 

The bespectacled wizard quietly picked up another slice of toast from the bread rack and began to butter it as he continued to think, the Hall beginning to slowly buzz with chatter again.

What had happened? Did Malfoy refuse to go to the Dark side…? No wonder his father was furious! But why would he refuse? He always seemed capable to Harry and he had boasted to Harry himself about his choosing the 'wrong side'. And the Boy Who Lived had always assumed that it was a done deal and that the Slytherin had an iron of the Dark Mark piping hot and ready in his room… 

Harry's contemplations, however, were short-lived as he was distracted and soon eased into a conversation with his two best friends about their timetables, driving the blond boy's problems easily from his mind. In fact, he didn't even notice that Draco Malfoy hadn't re-entered into the Great Hall after the Howler. However, he _did_ notice, along with his partners in crime, that for probably the first time in his life, the Slytherin didn't attend his Potions class. 

* * *

**Draco – Ramblings of a Spoilt Little Rich Kid **

Fuck. Shit. Damn. Bollocks. 

He was completely screwed. 

The Slytherin lay back on his bed and stared pensively at the ceiling, wondering if it would collapse on him if he stayed there long enough. 

Of course he bloody expected it. He wasn't completely stupid or anything. If truth be told, Draco wouldn't have been surprised if Lucius had sent him an Unforgivable curse through the post. Luckily for him, Crabbe and Goyle were always around and would open anything if he told them there was food inside. 

Idiots. 

However, Lucius hadn't sent a thing for three weeks since he'd crept onto his Nimbus Two-Thousand and One and sped from the manor in the middle of the night, armed only with a bottomless bag with all his belongings inside. Looking back upon his escape, Draco couldn't help but wrinkle his nose in disdain. It was all terribly cheap and he could still hardly believe that he, Draco Malfoy, had run away from home. 

But what else was he supposed to do? Wait to be shackled in the dungeons so those bloody insane Death Eaters could mark that grotesque and ugly mark upon his flawless skin? Over his dead (and perfect) body. And what was there to look forward to after they stained him to a crisp? To have to kneel before some skeletal wreck, kiss his robes and lick his fucking shoes clean? Lucius may have had no dignity but Draco would have rather drunk a litre of undiluted bubotuber pus than ever reduced himself to that. 

Trying to sniff haughtily, he turned to his side but knew he sounded more like a cat being strangled. He knew he was in up to his knees. Though flying straight to Hogwarts and into the ever-watchful protection of Dumbledore (not that he liked the muggle-loving fool or anything), Draco felt far from safe. He knew that Hogwarts was the safest place there was but hey, the place had been broken into four times in as many years by Voldemort's cronies… and not even a bloody diary was safe. 

If Draco were not as brave or as superiorly arrogant as he was, the Slytherin would probably have been paranoid. 

However, he couldn't deny that he was paler than usual and that he would jump slightly when someone shouted his name. And that fucking sickened him. He was being an idiot, or (as he preferred to entitle it) a Gryffindor. He was letting his emotions affect him, and Malfoys didn't do that. They didn't have emotions. They were as cold as they looked and Draco remarkably looked like he'd been carved out of ice. 

The only time the Slytherin ever let his emotions run uninhibited was when he had screamed bloody murder at his father… and also when a certain redheaded and quick-tempered Gryffindor pushed his buttons. Of course, Draco would let Ron Weasley stroke more then just a nerve but the poor boy was so oblivious to everything else around him that he was hardly going to notice that his worst enemy was undressing him with his eyes. But of course, Draco didn't blame him. He spent half his time convincing himself that he only wanted to touch the Gryffindor to hurt him… and he did want to hurt him. He wanted to punch him and break him then viciously smirk and lick away the blood and tears. He wanted to make the boy cry out in more ways than one… and the sudden revelation was disturbing him greatly. He fucking hated it. He loathed the adrenaline in his body when he saw a flash of red down the corridors and the way he just couldn't bloody leave him alone. He absolutely despised the way he needed to taunt him and see him enraged just to make his day complete. And he especially hated the way he made him want him so badly. 

Of course, he didn't actually feel anything deeper for Weasley. It was all pure, crazed, hormonal lust. Or something along those lines. It wasn't as though he was a real homosexual or anything… 

Which he _definitely _wasn't. 

Weasley was just a pretty face, that's all. With those startling blue eyes, his tall frame, the fiery blaze of silky hair and the endearing freckles scattered flatteringly across his adorable face, was it any wonder that Draco wanted to drag the dazzling specimen to the nearest bed? But of course, it was ultimately Weasley's temper that did Draco in, which was more scorching than his hair and more passionate than anything the blond had ever seen. The way the tips of his ears would go red, the clench of his trembling fists and the fury in those wonderful eyes were only things Draco could unleash. And he loved the power he had over him. He loved the way that just one word from him could turn Weasley into a raging animal and Draco practically chortled with pleasure every time the boy would lose his infamous Gryffindor control. He just adored screwing with Weasley's head, especially when it evoked that nervous or confused expression on Weasley's face. But he hated (yes, _hated_) that he sometimes wanted to screw him senseless more than beat him to a pulp. He simply hated the bastard for being so damn sexy and making him, a Malfoy, think he was a fucking queer. Draco decided recently that merely killing the youngest Weasley boy would resolve all of his problems, but he wasn't going to commit himself to anything just yet... 

There was a sudden rap at his window that made Draco nearly jump out of his skin. 

Bloody Lucius making him feel so weak... 

After the initial shock, he soon lifted his nose into the air with a manner of pretentiousness. He was a Malfoy after all and he wasn't going to be intimidated… He walked straight to his window with his shoulders square and with an arrogant swing in his hips that couldn't be taught, but then suddenly stopped. 

His breath caught and he could taste the bile rising within his throat. His beautiful and rare black eagle owl, Hades, was tapping weakly with what were the remains of her beak. Her feathers were matte and seemed to have been pulled clean out in several places. One of her wings looked as though it had been injured, especially since it was covered in dried blood and was flapping peculiarly and her shining red eyes were now a different shade of red for a completely different reason. 

Someone had gauged them out. 

She was hooting blindly at him, with such a voice of tired desperation that it took the Slytherin but a second to run out to her. Cradling her within his arms, Draco stroked her softly with his index finger and felt the rage building up dangerously within him. It was one thing to attack him, but to try and kill the one thing he treasured the most in the world was merciless. He snarled in pure rage. If Lucius were standing before him, he would perform the Avada Kedavra curse upon the fucking bastard without the slightest hesitation. Draco was trembling with pure hatred. 

The roll of parchment, which was tied to the remnants of Hades' leg, grazed against his arm as he held his owl closely and Draco looked at it hesitantly. He should really have looked for Dumbledore. Dumbledore had told the currently furious Slytherin to inform him when he got any mail that he believed was sent by Lucius. 

But then Draco reminded himself that he wasn't dependant on that old fool. He could do this by himself. He could battle anything Lucius threw at him. He placed Hades softly down into her cage and preformed a Painkilling Spell, hoping that it lessened the obvious agony she was in. 

When all was done and good prevailed (who would have ever thought that he'd want that?), he'd get the bastards. He'd get all of them. Lucius had brought his son up to be an arrogant git and that was exactly what Draco knew he was; he knew he could deal with anything and everything. With body language that simply screamed self-importance, he opened the letter. 

_By the time you've completed this sentence your beloved owl will be dead. Make your decision, Draco. You know I will not tolerate any other answer. _

_Your Loving Father._

He heard the squeal from Hades' cage as the parchment disintegrated into dust in Draco's hands. He was panicking. 

Shit. 

He didn't have the faintest bloody idea what to do. 

Oh shit... 

Approaching the cage, he soon stepped back as he witnessed the scene, making a pained face and desperately wishing he could do something. Hades was squirming in her cage as though someone had put the Cruciatus curse upon her. She was squealing in utter agony, looking at Draco with her giant, bleeding eyes. The cage shook and creaked violently with her spasms and then, suddenly, it stopped. She'd stopped. Blood oozed out all around her like a sponge that had finally released all its fluid, slowly dripping to the stone floor in eerie echoes. 

The Malfoy just stared in shock.

He felt as though he was going to throw up or even cry, and he hadn't done either for years. He couldn't touch her. He couldn't even bear to look at her. He'd never actually lost something he had truly loved. After all, he hardly _ever_ loved. 

He didn't like this feeling at all. This fucking _human_ feeling.

He had to get out.

He ran out the dorms and out of the dungeons. 

He needed to lash out at something. Someone. He needed a good brawl. He needed to break something. Someone. He felt like killing. He needed to feel an adrenaline rush and a charge of tingling blood pounding through his body at a thousand miles per hour, making his head go dizzy and his eyes blur. He needed to feel any emotion other than this sickening one. 

Draco resolved that he either needed to get violent or horny. 

Turning the corner of the corridor, he couldn't help but revel at his luck. Ron Weasley and Harry Potter were walking in the empty hallway from what looked like a Quidditch practice, broomsticks over their shoulders and talking animatedly. The redhead was positively glowing with a flush, covered in mud and had a dishevelled windswept look about him. And Potter… who the heck cared about Potter? 

Violent or Horny, Draco…? 

He couldn't help but produce a wicked smile, forgetting that he honestly felt nothing for the Weasel and focusing only on a distraction. 

Why not combine the two? 


	2. After the Incident

**Harry – Malfoy goes Mad **

"Oh, if it isn't Potty and the Weasel…" 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut as the familiar cold, drawling voice reached his ears. He knew it was too good to last. He'd had the best Potions class ever, since there was peculiarly no Snape or Malfoy, and the excellent Quidditch practice convinced him that it would only be a matter of months before the Cup was Gryffindor's again. Harry opened his eyes in slow trepidation, hoping he was just imagining the Slytherin's voice. 

Damn. 

There Draco Malfoy was, right in front of them and in all his malevolent glory. His smirk was as maddening as always, yet his eyes had a different look about them. Instead of being derisive and mocking, he just looked completely pissed off. Malfoy's silver eyes flicked over Ron and his sneer grew, if possible, even more infuriating. 

"Nice outfit, Weasley. I didn't know the mud look was back in, but I suppose you've got to be as creative as you can with your wardrobe. After all, you can barely afford a personality. Knit your own socks too, do you?" Harry could see the gleam in Malfoy's eyes as Ron clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white and his face reddened even more. 

"Just leave us alone, Malfoy," Harry said simply, trying to steer his shaking friend in the other direction. He really wasn't in the mood to be wound up by the Slytherin, and he knew he had to draw Ron away from the situation before he did something violent. 

"I'd prefer to stay, Potter," Draco scoffed, practically spitting Harry's name out. "It's so much more fun here with you two; the Golden Couple of Hogwarts. What do you do, Weasley… Swallow it?" 

"Eat Hippogriff dung, Malfoy," he snarled through clenched teeth, clearly trying to hold his shaking, irate self from punching the Slytherin in the face. Harry could see it took all Ron's self control not to attack the smirking blond and he was silently praying that Malfoy would just walk off before he caused Ron to do something that would get his best friend into serious trouble. 

"I'd rather not, Weasley," the Slytherin replied with quiet warning as he stepped even closer, a sudden flash of pure anger ablaze in his normally emotionless and cold eyes. What was he doing? Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere in sight and Ron could easily kick his scrawny little arse... "I don't want to resort to what your family have to eat when the bills roll in." Harry was ready to hold Ron back when he would (obviously) produce a flailing punch, but to his surprise… it didn't happen. His best friend was still rooted to the spot, his ears burning redder than Harry had ever seen them, his blue eyes narrowed in utmost revulsion and strained composure and his freckles disappearing beneath his scarlet complexion. He was afraid that steam would be coming out of Ron's ears any minute now. 

"Yeah, well at least my family like me," the redhead hissed in a voice Harry hardly recognised. He'd never seen Ron like this. The redhead continued in a dangerous whisper, almost smirking. "At least my father doesn't want me dead. But hey, does anyone actually want you alive, Malfoy? Why don't you do us all a favour and jump off the Astronomy Tower…?" Harry had automatically known that Ron had gone too far. Before either of them knew it, Malfoy had pounced on the redhead, making Ron fall smack on his back so he was straddling him. Then the Slytherin started hitting the stunned Gryffindor with such brute force that Ron had to shield his face with his arms, obviously in shock from the abruptness of the attack and the pale boy's sudden superhuman strength. Harry, who primarily was too taken aback to move, tried to pull the blond off of his friend by grabbing two fistfuls of his robes, but the uncontrollable Slytherin wasn't affected and dealt with this nuisance by slamming his already perfectly-placed elbow into Harry's stomach sharply, causing him to keel over with the sudden blow. Harry felt the wind knocked out of him and gasped for breath as his glasses fell awry and he lost his footing. He could taste the salty taste of blood in his mouth as his jaw collided with the stone floor and heard his glasses smash, but he tried to ignore it. He needed to get back on his feet. He needed to rescue Ron… 

Reaching out in blind desperation for anything to help him, Harry's fingers suddenly wrapped around a smooth object. Just by the feel of the item, he could discern that it was the handle of his Firebolt. Dragging it weakly towards him, he got to his knees; his head spinning and his eyes completely out of focus. He could barely distinguish a silver blur leaning over the indistinct, limp body of his friend and, with all the strength left in him, Harry got to his unstable feet, lifted the Firebolt up passed his head and swung it vehemently across the back of the Slytherin's head. Malfoy toppled over and fell across Ron's chest, out completely cold. 

Sorely moving to Ron's side, Harry pushed the blond weakly off his friend, then took a sharp intake of breath. Even without his glasses, he could see the haze of blood all over Ron's face. 

And the redhead didn't appear to be getting up…

"Harry! I've been looking for you two everywhere…" Hermione's sudden and fortunate appearance was never more welcome. He could hear her breath catch in her throat as she looked upon the scene and heard her footsteps ground to a halt as she whimpered faintly. "Oh, God. Ron…" 

"Hermione, get Dumbledore…" Harry managed to say in shaky gasps as he rolled up his robes with pained arms and placed them under Ron's bleeding head. Hermione watched, paling as she shook her head in terrified disbelief; she was rooted to the spot. "Hermione! Go!" 

She didn't need to be told again. Hermione dropped the books and school supplies in her hands with a loud thump and ran at full speed down the hallway, wiping the pricking tears from her eyes in the process with the back of her hand and leaving Harry shaken and by his broken friend. 

He should have brought his wand. Even if it was Quidditch practice, he should have had it in an inside pocket in his robes. How could he have been so stupid to wander around the school with bastards like Malfoy around to… 

He turned to look at the blond, who was now lying on his back beside Ron but still had a leg over his friend. Harry pushed it fiercely away in loathing as he stared at the Slytherin in nothing but pure hatred. The bottom half of Malfoy's face, including the tip of his nose, was dripping in vivid red blood against his ghostly white skin and Harry was glad that Ron had at least got a few hits in himself… but this was short-lived when he thought about what Malfoy had done to the redhead in return. Harry, who had seen so much death and gore in his fifteen years, had never witnessed so much blood in his life. 

But as much as he hated Malfoy, this wasn't his style. 

He never fought with his fists and was usually cold and, though Harry hated to admit it, used his intelligence and dry wit to assist him in confrontations. Then why had he threatened them with such raw anger and violence? Was it something to do with the Howler he'd received this morning? Harry snorted when he thought about the sympathy he'd felt for Malfoy at breakfast. In his opinion, it couldn't have happened to a nicer person. 

He suddenly heard a rush of footsteps behind him and turned around desperately on his knees to face the four fast approaching blurs. He immediately felt a concerned hand on his shoulder as two of the figures swarmed around the two unconscious boys. 

"Harry, are you alright?" The tallest blur, which was holding his shoulder, asked. Harry nodded mutely and numbly at Dumbledore's words as he heard Hermione's voice tremble something, then felt her shakily drop down to her knees beside him and hand him an object. She'd repaired his glasses. Taking them in quivering gratitude, Harry slipped them on and felt his world focus around him. 

He wished it hadn't. 

It looked so much worse than he had expected. Ron was lying in a pool of his own blood, making his usually vibrant hair look faded and worn out, especially atop his pale, lifeless and bloodied face. Harry felt Hermione's shaking hand slip into his and he took it immediately. The two friends stared at each other in desperation then back to Ron as Madam Pomfrey and Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, who appeared to be just as pale and anxious as they were, levitated Ron and Malfoy into stretchers and preformed clean-up spells on the blood-covered hallway. 

And that was when Harry noticed it. 

Of course, without his glasses he could barely make out a rat from a teacup but with them on he could see the smallest detail. And with them he could see a prominent and red oval mark on Ron's neck… 

"Harry?" 

He broke out of his reverie and turned around to see a pale and still trembling Hermione look at him warily. He didn't even realise that the stretchers were floating already halfway down the hallway. Smiling at her weakly to assure her he was all right, he slipped his arm comfortingly around his friend's shoulders as they followed shakily behind the teachers to the Infirmary. 

* * *

**Draco – A Vicious Act of Lust **

All he saw was red. 

That cruel little crack about his father… Weasley's bloody composure… making him feel as fucking suicidal as he already felt… It all suddenly evoked within his mind and made his body tremble. 

He was fucking enraged. 

Desire and hatred spiralled together frenziedly until there was only him. Those furious eyes, hellish hair, snarling mouth and the uncharacteristic spite. The magnificence of his wrath was radiating out of him like a glowing beacon and inadvertently entrapping the Slytherin. Jesus, he wanted, no _needed_, to touch him. He needed to throw his icy self into his scorching power. He just needed him in anyway… 

And then he caught himself. 

He realised what Weasley had done to him. He had made him _feel_. He still made Draco want him. 

He made him want to pin him down and have his wicked way with him; both sexual and brutal. There was no denying it now. He never wanted anything so much than the Gryffindor at that moment… 

Draco's hands clenched at his sides. 

He wanted to _kill _him. 

He had never felt such base anger pumping like pure passion through him, ready to burst any moment from the pressure. He also never felt such unadulterated hate for the bastard for throwing him in such turmoil and poisoning his mind. 

That was when he pounced. 

The look of terror on Weasley's face was practically orgasmic. Did he know how well fear suited his features? Draco could feel the Gryffindor wriggling frantically beneath him in not anger, but desperation. He didn't even have the time to gift Weasley with a patented Malfoy smirk. 

Even when Draco wanted to beat the bastard for making him feel like this, the redhead still turned him on. Did he even know what he was doing to him? 

The Slytherin punched him across the face and could have sworn he heard his jawbone crunch beneath his knuckles. 

Here he was. Lying limp, frail and pinned down between the blond's legs, a place Draco had often imagined him to be; groaning in husky pain and squeezing his dazzling eyes shut in agony. All Draco really needed to do was lean over to kiss him on that exquisite mouth… 

He punched him with the other fist across the nose. He definitely heard that break. Red liquid spurted out with the mighty impact over his freckled face and made Weasley cough, choking down on his own blood, gasping for air, imploring hands fisted tightly in the sleeves of Draco's robes and practically begging in surrender, though no words escaped. 

The Slytherin wasn't letting him off so easy. Did the Weasel ever make things that straightforward for him? His hated lust bubbled within him even more. 

He punched him again. Then again. And again. And again. Left. Right. Right. Left. A crunch here. A black eye there. Fists smothered in his liquid insides and his own pale face splattered with Weasley's blood. 

He suddenly felt a pair of hands grab his robes, but nothing could break his concentration. He slammed the hindrance with his elbow, and it seemed to go away. He stopped for a moment, breathing heavily and charged with rage. Draco heard something thump to the ground behind him and heard a crash of glass. Hey, maybe he'd killed Potter, too. 

Well, he could only dream. 

He turned back to the object of his abhorrent affection and paused, examining him almost devotedly. Even covered in blood and with a broken nose, Weasley was still one of the most divine things he'd seen. For crap's sake, why couldn't he just get the little fucker to leave him the heck alone? 

And before he had even realised he had done it, the Slytherin had leaned over and swiftly slipped his tongue into the redhead's limp mouth, exploring every crevice and relishing in the combination of sweetness and salty blood. He pressed his lips with bruising and hungry force over the Gryffindor's and ravenously kissed and bit his way through. It was beyond anything he had ever imagined in all those nights he'd stayed awake and imagined the boy in his bed, kissing him wantonly. 

He was in outlandishly sweet ecstasy. 

He ran his hands over the hard chest beneath him then even further down to his belt buckle, pulling at it furiously. 

If truth be told, Draco had never in all his life dreamed of well… _'forcing'_ Weasley. When he would actually allow himself to fantasise about the redhead, the Gryffindor was always squirming with pleasure beneath him as he held him down, growling in frustration from being denied to touch the Slytherin back; always calling out Draco's name in pure, rough enthusiasm. 

To be honest, the pale boy wasn't really feeling himself. So he decided to _literally_ feel Weasley instead. It was all that poor little bastard's fault anyway. That fucking redhead was continuingly,_ knowingly, _driving him insane and he needed to possess him… not really giving a toad's arse about who might be watching. His Slytherin resolve was deteriorating, but he was too far-gone to even detest the Gryffindor for having this affect upon him. 

Nuzzling his nose down from Weasley's cheek to the curve of his soft neck, he fluttered hard kisses across his broken jawbone and viciously sucked at the cold, freckled white flesh of his throat… Wait a minute. Cold? 

He suddenly withdrew warily. 

He had a moment of sudden clarity. 

He had nearly just killed Weasley and was now kissing the unconscious boy like there was no tomorrow and in the wide-open hallway. And he'd done it in front of Potter. The bespectacled Boy Wonder would tell the whole school and Weasley would look down at him in disgust. He snarled.

Fucking Weasley. 

He'd kill the poor mudblood-lover before he told anyone what had happened. And then, before he knew it, something blunt thundered at the back of his head and he was out cold. 

***

When he awoke all he saw was a blinding white, making the Slytherin wince with the sudden light. What the heck was this? Death? Or even heaven? Even disorientated, the boy could smirk. If he could be sent anywhere, heaven would be by far the last place on the list. Taking a while to gather his focus, he lazily blinked his pale grey eyes and found himself looking straight up at a lamp. Shit. He knew where he was. 

"Oh, you're awake. I was wondering when you would grace us with your presence, Mr Malfoy." 

Draco turned his head to find the source of the voice as he sat up groggily, using his weak elbows as leverage. Madam Pomfrey bustled over to him with an unmistakable air of authority and a harsh look in her eye. Without another word, she placed the back of her hand on the boy's forehead for a temperature reading, which he took no time at all in shrugging off viciously. 

"Why the heck am I here?" he snarled. She looked down at him with a confused scowl. He almost enjoyed the way she could never quite disguise her dislike for him. 

"You don't remember?" 

He didn't have time for guessing games. He needed to go and visit Hades to make sure she hadn't started another fight in the Owlery again. And why was he lying here anyway? There was nothing wrong with him. Lifting his hand to hastily pull back his sheets, the Slytherin instantly bit upon his lip to stifle a yelp. Both his hands, which he now noticed were thoroughly bandaged, were throbbing with the most excruciating pain and the very slightest of movements caused tears to spring automatically to his eyes. 

"Broken knuckles in both your hands, Mr Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey informed with a wry smile as she brought over his breakfast tray. 

Jesus. How the hell had he done that? 

She practically slammed the tray in front of him and then turned to attend to the other beds when Draco noticed her distinct sudden halt. Looking up, he saw that she was looking at the Infirmary entrance. 

Dumbledore was standing in the doorway and was looking so dangerous that Draco sniggered inwardly at the unlucky bugger he would be unleashed upon. The old man's flashing eyes scanned across the room carefully, looking around with hawk-like precision and finally fell on… him. 

Shit. 

If Draco had thought that Dumbledore had an unwelcome look on his face the day Draco had crash-landed on his Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-One, that was nothing to the intense and piercing expression he was currently fixing on the Slytherin. He could put a Basilisk to shame. Draco wanted to look away, but Dumbledore's stare forbade it and instead his eyes lingered to where Dumbledore's eventually rested. On the next bed. 

Draco turned his pounding head blearily to peer at the bed to his right. 

His redhead was lying unconscious on the sterile white sheets, looking not only deathly pale but utterly awful. Both of his eyes were black and swollen, his freckled cheeks were adorned with blazing red cuts and scratches, a giant bruise resembling the colour of a sunset rested upon the bottom of his presently weak right jaw, his lips had split in several places (causing the need for Madam Pomfrey to perform magical stitching) and the broken and blue bridge of his nose was currently being supported by a strip of powerful white surgical tape. He didn't seem to be breathing. He looked so… lifeless. It just wasn't right for someone as vibrant and animated as him to look so washed out. 

Then it suddenly flooded back to him like some queasy nightmare. He had done this. Draco had beaten Weasley to an inch of his life. And he'd ruined that face. 

An unfamiliar feeling within his stomach bubbled as he examined the broken body beside him. 

Guilt. 

He tried to shrug it away.

That's why his fists were bandaged. He'd broken his knuckles in his mission to attack Weasley. He felt vaguely nauseous remembering it all. Was it any wonder the boy looked so awful? With impact that amount, he was surprised he hadn't killed him. 

Shit. He hadn't actually managed to _kill_ Weasley. The fucking Gryffindor was going to continue to torment him.

After almost hours of silence and Draco recalling the brutal events in his head, the old man finally spoke. 

"Do you know what I find peculiar, Mr Malfoy?" The blond Slytherin hated it when Dumbledore got all conversational. Why couldn't he just say, _"You're an evil little prick who doesn't deserve to live"_ and spend less time just telling Draco he was suspended? Draco didn't answer; hoping that maybe staring at Dumbledore coldly would make him go away… Apparently, it wouldn't. "I have been sitting here deliberating with great interest on how you succeeded in getting Mr Weasley's blood smeared in excess upon your mouth." His eyes were twinkling with slight amusement as Draco paled even more. "Tendency to drink blood, Mr Malfoy? Perhaps your vampire-like disposition will also explain the bruise upon Mr Weasley's neck…?" 

Shit. He knew. He bloody knew. Draco wondered if he clapped his hands long enough if a horde of fairies would come and take him away. He broke into a cold sweat as he licked at his swollen and bruised lips nervously. He needed to be composed and not to pass out. He tried to look Dumbledore defiantly in the eye. 

"I don't know what the heck you're…" 

It didn't last long though. His words trailed away with the sudden appearance of a figure stepping out from behind the tall headmaster. 

Potter. 


	3. Discoveries are made

_Mentions of my favourite detective, Columbo, are here… Gods I love Peter Falk! He is so brilliant! And the *ahem* colourful language and some of the slang phrases of 'one whom is a homosexual' are from the delightful and not at all rude 'Queer As Folk' – the UK version of course! Disclaimers and all are in the first chapter._

* * *

**Harry ****-**** Tying up Loose Ends**

Harry looked up, gazing in distress at the eerie way Ron was floating horizontally in the air with Dumbledore at his side, wand raised. Hermione was still shuddering slightly in Harry's arms and the scared Gryffindor took deep breaths to control his own composure. Why did something like this always happen, without fail, each and every year? Last time Hermione and he were this worried about Ron was when…

His mind instantly raced back to his third year when he recalled seeing that familiar shaggy black dog drag Ron into the roots of the Whomping Willow, snapping the redhead's leg deafeningly in the process. Harry remembered the fear he felt and recalled the terror in his chest as he prayed that his best friend wasn't dead… and he was feeling it all over again. 

He knew when this was reported all over school that people would say it was just a fistfight, but Harry knew better. Fist fighting included both parties, even in the Wizarding World. A few moments ago, his best friend was a human punching bag. And with the blood all over the corridor, you would have either thought that someone had just been viciously stabbed or there had been a horrific massacre.

The two friends, practically hobbling until they had reached the Infirmary entrance, suddenly stopped as Professor McGonagall turned around swiftly and graced them both with a sad smile; blocking them from entering. Harry blinked in surprise at observing her red eyes. He knew his strict Professor had true emotion, but the situation was so much more daunting when even the most severe teachers were visibly losing control.

"I'm sorry Mr Potter, Miss Granger, but it's time to leave this to us." Harry nodded numbly, but for the first time in his life, he witnessed Hermione actually challenge the Gryffindor Head. She looked more shaky and pale-faced than Harry could have believed possible.

"B-But we need to know if he'll be all right," she said stepping forward and raising her increasingly squeaking voice. "He needs someone with him when he…"

"Miss Granger, we will handle this," Professor McGonagall said, slightly sterner but subsequently placed her hand comfortingly on Hermione's shoulder, smiling weakly. She then turned to Harry and observed the trickle of blood from the corner of his lip to his chin. "Mr Potter, you seem to also be in need of some medical assistance." Harry shook his head slowly to himself; this was all just too much. His head began to ache, and it wasn't due to his scar.

"I'm fine," he lied, squeezing his eyes shut to rid the weird patterns floating at his eyes. He would be fine. They had to spend their time on Ron and Harry's silly loose back teeth weren't going to distract them. "When can we see Ron?"

McGonagall puffed out again, getting slightly closer to anger, but Harry, to his own surprise, found himself glaring back. How could they just expect Ron's best friends to just walk off after something like this? Their Transfiguration teacher finally sighed in almost desperate exasperation. She looked incredibly strained and suddenly looked years older as her wrinkles appeared more prominent than ever.

"I honestly don't know, Mr Potter. I'll have to notify Mr Weasley's parents and…"

"We'll do it," Harry said immediately. It would at least keep his mind occupied. "I think they'd prefer to hear it from us." Hermione nodded with concurrence as Professor McGonagall, with a final smile at them both, swiftly opened the door and shut it behind her. 

Harry just stared at the closed door for a couple of minutes, unsure of what next to do. He felt a tug on his arm and allowed Hermione to gently lead him to the corridor towards the Gryffindor common room to write to the Weasleys. Harry remembered that she had left her quills, books and rolls of parchment in that corridor when she had dropped them in her haste, but neither wanted to go back and instead opted for a batch of new supplies from the trunks in their rooms. They'd walked not two minutes when the two friends heard a giant commotion from ahead of them. The entire Gryffindor house seemed to be hurrying straight towards them with Fred, George and Ginny Weasley, in an almost fiery front, leading the masses. As soon as they reached them, the entire bustling crowd went creepily silent. George Weasley, who was still holding his Beater club since practice in a menacing way, grabbed Harry's arm anxiously.

"Harry, where's Ron?" His normally mischievous and grinning face was desperate, pale and quite angry. Fred, as always, was at his side and was wearing an absolutely identical expression as he had an arm around his trembling sister. Behind the three siblings, where half the Gryffindors were looking just as apprehensive, Harry caught sight of the normally chipper Seamus looking pallid and Neville looking as though he was about to burst into tears. Harry gazed at them in bleary confusion.

"How did you hear so…?"

"Violet, the Fat Lady's friend. Her picture was hanging in that corridor," George (Or was it Fred?) said brusquely. Beside him Fred gulped loudly, his face looking pained as though he'd just swallowed a large cactus plant in one gulp. 

"Is… is he alright?"

"I don't know. We're not allowed in," Harry muttered bitterly. George snorted; looking even more cross as his hereditary Weasley ears went red.

"I'd like to see them stop us! He's our little brother, for Pete's sake!" 

"George, don't start… please," Ginny pleaded, looking pale and tear-stricken. Nevertheless the fiery-tempered twin didn't listen as he stormed down the hall, leaving his brother and sister sighing in weak frustration after him. Neither stopped him though; Harry guessed that they both secretly hoped he could get some answers. Fred turned to Harry and Hermione, smiling at them softly in brotherly concern.

"You two Ok?" They both nodded. Fred quirked an eyebrow, smiling weakly. "You sure about that, Harry? 'Ok' doesn't usually involve bleeding, or is it some weird muggle thing you learnt?" Harry groaned. Why couldn't everybody just leave him alone?

"I'm not bleeding. You're imagining things."

George soon came back looking very red in the face, very put out and ever so slightly sheepish. His brother gave him an expectant look and George leaned back against the stone wall, pouting. 

"They just said they_ think _he'll be alright, then McGonagall said she'd hex me if I didn't go away." He had muttered the former in a very unconvincing voice, slowly sliding down the wall so he was eventually squatting on the floor. Harry had never seen the twins this distraught and not hearing a joke for this amount of time was quite unnerving. Hermione looked at Harry worriedly; the corridor was deathly silent and morale was at an all time low. She decided to break the silence, turning to Ginny.

"We were just about to owl your parents but I guess it's better if you guys do it." Harry nodded in agreement and George shrugged.

"Yeah. I s'pose," he said shortly. Fred suddenly groaned, squeezing shut his blue eyes as a sudden thought struck him.

"God, mum'll be in tears." Harry winced at the thought. He couldn't bear to think of Mrs Weasley crying; she was one of the nicest people Harry knew. George, still on the floor, was muttering something under his breath so quietly that Harry barely made it out.

"… I swear, as soon as that Malfoy is out of hospital, he's going straight back in again… and that's if the Slytherin git is lucky…" With a sigh, Fred grabbed his brother by the collar and pulled him up cleanly to his feet.

"Come on, Forge. We better go back to the common room and write to Mum and Dad."

"I'll come with you," Ginny said, sighing deeply to seek some sense of equanimity. "We all know what your letters are like." 

There were murmurs of agreement around the crowd and they all turned dejectedly and began to walk down towards the Gryffindor corridor. Harry watched as everyone but he and Hermione filed out the now quiet hallway. She turned to look at Harry in concern as he just stood where he was.

"Harry, aren't you coming?"

"Err… I'll meet you in there in a minute, 'Mione." Hermione nodded dolefully as she turned back and hurried to follow the miserable Gryffindor crowd down the hall. 

Harry didn't want to do it. To be honest, he didn't want to go back to the corridor at all but he knew that there was something strangely wrong with what happened there just a few moments ago. He might have been there, but the young wizard felt as though he was missing the plot or that something had happened that he didn't witness. Like that muggle detective, Columbo, he needed to tie up some loose ends. And he also knew that the Fat Lady's friend, Violet, probably had the answers for him to do that. So, with his aching head held high and producing a heavy exhale, Harry walked down until he reached that familiar hallway, then stopped. How could he have been so blind to not have noticed her picture right where Malfoy had Ron pinned down? 

He cleared his throat loudly to get the attention of the wizened and pale old witch, who was currently asleep in a chair within her frame.

"Excuse me…?" Snapping one eye open, Harry was convinced she would begin to scowl at him for waking her up. However, she merely turned her head to face him, primarily a bit startled but then she soon looked quite elated at his presence. She was suddenly wide awake.

"Oh, it's you again! Your lip's bleeding, Mr Harry Potter." She seemed to find great enjoyment in addressing him by his name. Harry rolled his green eyes in irritation; he was far from in the mood for this. He sighed.

"Could you _just _tell me what you saw?" 

Thankfully, that was all the encouragement she needed.

"Oh, it was awful! But I suppose you were too knocked out by the Malfoy boy to notice…" Harry couldn't help but scowl slightly.

"He didn't knock me out. My glasses broke and I couldn't see…"

"Anyway," she dismissed with a wave of her wrinkled hand, her beady eyes flashing with her hunger to gossip. Harry couldn't help but think Rita Skeeter would have found a great ally in her; that is, if she wasn't still stuck in a jar in Hermione's room. "When he knocked you out…" Harry wasn't bothered to correct her, "He stopped for a while and then suddenly, without warning, he just pounced upon and started kissing that poor unconscious boy…! I tell you, I was shocked! Utterly shocked! Seeing things like that, at my age! Well, I grant you, the sight wasn't wholly unpleasant but still…" Harry finally broke out of his daze.

"He… he… Malfoy kissed Ron?!?!" He felt ill. To be punched then kissed by the Slytherin git… why didn't Malfoy just parade Ron outside without any clothes on to make things extra cruel? But that meant Malfoy was well… _gay_, didn't it? 

No. 

It couldn't be true. 

Then slowly, Harry thought about it.

Malfoy _was_ leaning over Ron. 

"That would explain the bruise on his neck…" Harry muttered more to himself then Violet as he contemplated, curving his thumb and index finger under his chin as he began to unravel the deeply disturbing discovery. She was listening with keen, shrewd interest, just in case there was anything else to tell the other pictures. "And it would also explain the blood on Malfoy's face, because I know Ron couldn't have hit him back. His fists were clean…"

"You are a clever one, aren't you?" she asked, an impressed smile on her features. Harry smiled back weakly.

"I have my moments. But why would Malfoy kiss Ron? He hates him, doesn't he? Unless…"

"Well done, Harry." 

Dumbledore's voice came so abruptly that Harry jumped. Spinning around, he caught the Headmaster's sparkling blue eyes. "Only a few minutes after I realised it myself. That deserves praise of the highest kind." He smiled softly as Harry merely opened his mouth in shock. Without further ado, Dumbledore stepped aside so Harry could walk out the corridor. "Now Harry, what do you say to our letting Mr Malfoy know about our fascinating breakthrough?"

* * *

**Draco - The Bastards All Know**

What the heck did Potter want? The Slytherin guessed he probably wanted to throw back a little of what he'd had done to Scarface's precious Weasley. However, Potter didn't look at Draco with a look of hate. The boy looked more, well… confused. Wide-eyed. And pale. And Lord, was he shaking? 

Shit. 

Did Potter know what Dumbledore knew? No. He couldn't. There was no way the old codger would have told him; Gryffindor honour and all that crap. 

Draco schooled his handsome, almost pretty, features to his usual sneer without trouble, his pale eyes narrowed into slits.

"What the heck do you want, Potter?" Potter opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. Opened it… left it there for a couple of seconds… then snapped it shut. What was wrong with the boy? Draco always knew Potter was glorified and hyped up for no good reason, but he reasoned that Seeker Boy was at least articulate. Not that Draco usually gave a shit what came out of his mouth anyway. 

The Gryffindor finally managed to make a vague sentence.

"I… I… Ron… came… came… for… Ron… I…"

"You _came_ for Weasley, did you, Potter?" Draco smirked. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to hear that when he wakes up."

"Shut up, Malfoy," he suddenly heard a female voice snap. He didn't even see Granger behind Dumbledore. How many Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers could the old man hide behind him? 

She didn't bloody know too, did she? Not that he thought Potter knew or anything…

"You going to make me, Granger?" Draco practically spat back. The very presence of the girl made him want to pull out all her bushy hair. Either that or set fire to it. He was pretty sure that Weasley would quickly lose interest once the object of his affection's head resembled one of Trelawney's crystal balls.

Shit. 

He was doing it again.

Granger was staring at him with such hate that the only way he could surpass it was by trying his very best. He squinted, growled and practically bared teeth. Even then, he only managed to equal it. 

Stupid fucking mudblood.

"Don't tempt me, Malfoy," she hissed in dangerous warning through clenched teeth then strode from the doorway and passed Draco's bed, heading straight towards Ron's; she had a giant box in her hands. The way she walked made Draco believe that she was actually restraining herself from dropping the package and attacking him. He just had to smirk at the thought of buttoned-down, goody-two-shoes Granger trying to hit him. Then again, the little Mudblood cow could slap sadistically. 

Potter followed her silently, avoiding any eye contact with Draco and keeping his eyes on the floor. While watching this, the Slytherin had come to a definite conclusion. 

Potter had finally lost it. 

That stupid scar of his had throbbed one too many times and caused his brain to malfunction.

Granger sat down on the seat right beside Weasel's then, positioning the box on his bedside table, placed her hand over his and looked affectionately at the unconscious redhead. Potter took the seat beside her, looking at Weasley as though a Dementor had just kissed him. He just kept shaking that head of his and mumbling something that sounded like repetitions of the same phrase,

"I was right there, but I couldn't stop him. Oh, Ron… please forgive me…" 

Bloody Potter. 

Acting as though the Slytherin wasn't even there… and what the fuck was Granger doing? Placing Weasley's limp hand on her damp, puffy cheek?

Draco grinded his teeth until the only the scraping noise filled his ears. Just watching that little Mudblood contaminate Weasley with her filthy little Mudblood hands made Draco's healing fists clench under his sheets. The Slytherin could have sworn he'd broken them again in his rage. If he couldn't shag the bastard, no one could. Especially not a muggle-born Gryffindor _Prefect_. And not shagging him didn't mean that Draco couldn't gawp at him from afar… and if Granger even dared to ruin Draco's vision by covering Weasley with her slime then he wouldn't hesitate in taking her out. 

Draco turned his head and his eye suddenly caught Potter's. He would have usually snarled or turned away but he didn't when he noticed that Potter was watching his reaction very closely. It didn't take Boy Wonder long to avert his eyes back to Weasley again. 

He knew. He fucking knew. Potter fucking knew.  

Draco's icy palms went clammy. He wiped them on his robes. Potter thought he was queer. That he was bent. That he was a shirt lifter, a battie boy, an arse bandit. He thought he was fucking Moses in the parting of the red cheeks. That's why he couldn't look him in the eye. That's why he looked so pale and terrified of Draco all of a sudden. He was a homophobe in every sense of the word. But did he honestly think that Draco wouldn't notice the way he was crossing his arms behind his back and draping his hands protectively over his arse? Get over yourself, Potter. Did he really think Draco would look at his scrawny little self when his best friend was the most divine thing on the planet?

Draco's feline eyes slit in pure venom. He would get Potter. He would get that little shit for ever even daring to think that he, a Malfoy, was a fucking homosexual. He would make him pay dearly for making such a mistake.

"How are your knuckles, Mr Malfoy?" 

Bloody Dumbledore. Did sneaking about and giving his students heart attacks constitute as being a decent Headmaster? Draco looked at the twinkling blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles and narrowed his eyes even further. The old man gave a chuckle. 

"Closing your eyes will have no affect on me, Draco. I believe that opening them a fraction more will atone for the mistake." 

Draco scowled. Not even his best look of contempt could affect the old fool. Even Snape reacted to it, though Draco supposed that was more due to Lucius. He loathed the way that he looked like a carbon copy of his father. To look in the mirror and see the person you hate the most in world looking back at you… With a shrug, Draco supposed it was reasonable compensation considering how good-looking he was. 

He produced an authentic Malfoy sneer.

"Cut the small talk, Professor. What's going to happen to me?" Dumbledore didn't look surprised by the remark; Dumbledore hardly looked surprised by anything. He just sighed profoundly and to Draco's surprise, sat at the foot of Draco's hospital bed, causing the bed to sink and creak slightly with the added weight. 

"That, my dear boy, is the decision of the School Governors."

"I'll be expelled won't I." It was a statement. The Slytherin knew what they were like since his father had been one until the end of Draco's second year. A chance to kick out Lucius Malfoy's son was like being given a sackful of Galleons; the temptation overweighed justice. And even then, justice wasn't really on his side either.

Dumbledore smiled in soft regret.

"It is a possibility."

"I'm not going back home," Draco said firmly. "I won't let you send me back there." He paused and looked Dumbledore stubbornly in the eye. "Just so you know." The Headmaster slowly nodded his wise head.

"That is understandable." He paused for a second and Draco felt unnerved by his intense blue eyes… not that he'd ever publicly admit it. "I am truly sorry about your owl, Mr Malfoy." 

He had almost forgotten about Hades. Draco turned his head away for a distraction; bloody Weasley was still the best around.

"Fucking Lucius," The Slytherin muttered as his eyes relished on how the waves of Weasley's red hair shone in the sparse light. Dumbledore didn't scold him for the language. In fact, the Headmaster nodded slightly and seemed to concur. Draco felt the weight ease creakily off his bed and felt Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder.

"I intend to keep you here as long as I possibly can, Draco." Draco didn't turn to look at him. His steeled eyes were fixed intently on the prominent bruise on Weasley's neck as he listened. "You need not worry for your safety while I am still Headmaster. I will deter the Governors as long as I can. I suggest you stay here under Madam Pomfrey's watch until I can arrange something. Anyhow," here he stopped and Draco turned despite himself. "Mr Weasley might need company when he finally awakens." Dumbledore was smiling. 

Bastard. 

Did he know how much Draco hated this? This wasn't a fucking romance novel. It wasn't a bloody 'Boy meets Evil boy; Boy hates Evil Boy; Evil boy falls for Boy; Boy finds he actually likes Evil Boy and they run off into the sunset together' type of story. And Draco wouldn't want it to be like that anyway if he _could _control it. The Slytherin despised sunsets. 


	4. The Meeting

**Ron – A Scream in the Night**

When the redhead woke up, he thought it was primarily because his father's Muggle alarm clock had gone off or perhaps Seamus was up early (as usual) and singing for everyone else to get up and enjoy the day. Ron, still under the covers, fumbled around clumsily on his bedside table for the clock. If it had been the clock, he'd throw it at the wall. If it was Seamus, he'd throw the clock at Seamus… 

However, his clock wasn't there. 

_What the hell…?_

Opening his swollen and aching eyes slightly and pulling back the covers from his head, which made his hair go static and spiky, Ron Weasley sleepily came to the discovery that it wasn't either. It was pitch black and he wasn't actually in his own bed. 

He groaned to himself. 

How had he managed to get into the hospital wing this time? Had You-Know-Who come back to kill Harry and had Ron and Hermione tried to help their best friend in some insane and unbelievable adventure? His entire body ached and the slightest movement was agony. Turning his head to nuzzle face down into the pillow, the Gryffindor suddenly gave a yelp and lifted his head up again as soon as contact was made. His nose was sensitively sore and he realised, from when he shouted, that his jaw and lips were really tender as well. The vile, bitter taste of a thousand different remedies was sloshing at the back of his throat and the roof of his mouth. God, even swallowing to get rid of the taste hurt and his face was tingling in an oddly numb way. 

What exactly _had_ he done this time? 

Deciding that it was way too late and that he was much too tired to go into investigation mode, Ron yawned and resolved that the best thing to do was to go back to sleep and figure it all out in the morning, when he reckoned he'd be slightly more bright. However, he had no sooner closed his eyes when two thoughts struck him.

Harry. 

Hermione. 

His eyes snapped open, suddenly fully alert, and he looked desperately around for any trace of his friends in the remaining beds, but only the one next to his was occupied. Ron could hardly see who it was in the dark but squinting his throbbing eyes, he could tell they were blond; obviously not Harry or Hermione. Turning frantically, though woozily, to face the bedside table, he saw a line of cards and a giant boxful of Chocolate Frogs and breathed in relief when he recognised both his friends' handwriting on a giant card. They were fine. 

At least they were fine.

But why was it always him who ended up in the Infirmary?  

With a small and slightly childish pout, Ron sighed, sat up and leaned his back against the wire frame headboard of the bed. Bugger. He was now fully awake and had nothing to do but look around the room, which wasn't very interesting anyway because it was pitch black. Only a sliver of moonlight illuminated Ron's bedside table and a bit of the next bed but besides that, the view would look exactly the same if he were closing his eyes. However, at that moment, closing his eyes was the last thing he felt like doing. 

Sneaking his gaze back to his boxful of Chocolate Frogs, Ron's mouth watered and he soon began smiling mischievously to himself as a plan hatched in his mind. Then he told himself off because just moving his mouth hurt like hell. Pressing his torn lips together to stifle himself from whooping out loud, Ron reached out and grabbed a handful of his favourite treat. He could practically hear Hermione's exasperated voice in his head as he guiltily pulled at one of the small packages.

_"Ron, it's 5 o'clock in the morning!" _

Ron shrugged his shoulders at the voice in his head.

"Hey, I'm a growing boy…" 

However, just as the Frog reached his lips, an agonising shriek from the next bed made him both jump and bellow in fright. Seeing his moment of weakness, the Frog jumped out of his grasp, kicked him on his aching, freckled nose with its little webbed, chocolaty foot and scarpered off; jumping off the bed and out an open window. Ron didn't even bother watching him go as he was both engrossed and terrified with what was happening to his neighbour. The redhead guessed that _that_ piercing cry was what woke him up in the first place and he was beginning to wonder if the person next door was being tortured or skinned or something. 

However, Ron Weasley was put into Gryffindor for a good reason, though he himself wondered if it was more due to stupidity or nosiness than actual courage. In trepidation, he pulled back his sheets and swung his throbbing and numb legs off the edge of the bed, placing his feet flat on the magicked warm floor of the Infirmary and slowly, creakily, standing up. The immediate, blinding head rush was practically unbearable as Ron's vision blurred and faded repeatedly in a space of seconds and blood pounded fanatically in his ears. The only reason the weakened and dizzy redhead didn't fall straight down to the ground was because he'd used both frail hands to steady himself on his bedside table. God, he didn't even notice that he was attached from a hose thing to a sack of blood, which was hanging limply from the top of a large metal pole. Ron recognised it as a muggle device, recalling when his father had brought one home from work one time last spring in a great fit of enthusiasm and had played with the tubes until well into the next morning. In the end, Mrs Weasley took it away from him, saying it was unhygienic and berating her husband for stealing from M.A.D (the Muggle Artefacts Division) again. 

Ron looked down at his arm and grimaced, unsure with what to do with the painfully long needle going straight through his pulse. He cringed. He always thought muggles were odd, but he didn't understand why they allowed themselves to do this to their bodies. He would have to ask his dad when he got home. 

Squeezing his eyes shut very tightly and away from the sight, Ron only opened them again when he had averted his head to look directly forward and shifted his numb, cabled arm slightly behind his back and beyond his view. Now all he needed was a pack of spiders to make him feel even more squeamish. Oh, why did he think of that? He shuddered. Bad thought. Bad thought…

His neighbour suddenly shrieked again, throwing back their blond head with the pain, which instigated Ron to jump again and bring both his large hands to his chest in fright; he then promptly hid his arm behind his back when he realised it was once again in his eye range. 

Ron let out a deep sigh, which he hoped would let loose some courage.

Whoever they were, they needed his help. 

He licked his cracked lips nervously and dragged the wheeled metal pole thingy with him as he edged closer to the squirming body on the bed, which was tossing and turning and looked like it was in complete and utter agony. He could hear their strained breaths, the occasional cry of pain and an almost hissing noise, almost as though the person was trying to stifle the sounds of weakness leaving their mouth. Ron stopped at the side of the bed, pressing his lips together in uncertainty. 

"Are… are you alright, mate?" he asked unsurely, gulping loudly and looking around the room for any sort of assistance; none seemed to come to the surface. With his words of concern, the figure immediately stopped struggling and, Ron was convinced, had stopped breathing. They lay there absolutely still, frozen and immobile.

Oh Bugger. He only wanted to help. He didn't mean to kill them or anything…

However, before Ron began to panic about Azkaban and how good his Chudley Canons posters would look on his cell wall, a familiar snarling, though more pained and small, voice replied…

"What the fuck do you want, Weasley?" 

Malfoy. 

The redhead felt his fists automatically clench and his blood practically begin to boil inside him, which always happened on complete reflex whenever he unwillingly encountered upon the Slytherin. Damn. And there he was thinking that he'd killed the little shite. Oh well, at least the colossal prick was in pain.

"You're keeping me up with your crying, Malfoy," Ron said through gritted teeth. If Malfoy could see him through the dark, he'd see the narrowed, furious eyes. "I just wanted you to shut the hell up so I could get back to sleep." Ron could hear Malfoy's growls and found himself smiling in faint smugness to himself. He'd caught the untouchable Slytherin in a moment of weakness… just another memory for Ron to treasure in the 'Malfoy in extreme distress' file within his head, right next to the bouncing ferret image. Ah, happy days…

He didn't need to wait long for Malfoy to retaliate sardonically.

"Be a good little Gryffindor and trot off back to bed, Weasley," the Slytherin hissed in his menacing, icy drawl though Ron could hear the occasional wince as he struggled to withhold his pain. What was wrong with the bastard anyway? "And while you're there, don't ever bother waking up." 

Ron had never heard Malfoy so serious and strangely sincere. This made him want to push him even further.

Seeing the usually cold and invincible Slytherin in such pained emotion actually made Ron grin instead of Malfoy's words infuriating him. So, the boy _was_ real.

"Hurt much, does it, Malfoy?" the redhead asked with a very content grin. 

"Fuck off, Weasley." 

Not even his scathing and witty self. Just a plain expletive where he would have usually slipped in an intelligently cruel remark. God, he wasn't even trying. The pain must have blocked out his usual cutting rejoinders. Ron shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest, forgetting about his ghastly arm as he couldn't help but smile even wider at the Slytherin's suffering, though it hurt like hell to even speak.

"Nah, Malfoy. I'd rather watch you in pain," he said beaming, hoping to irritate the hell out of Malfoy by the time this was done. How often did he have such a chance to provoke the pale-faced git alone and when he was in too much pain to retort properly? Normally Ron would probably have stomped back to bed and left Malfoy to himself, muttering obscenities under his breath along the way, but he reminded himself that this was _Malfoy _and just watching him in pain was oddly satisfying. It was compensation for every time he's called Hermione a Mudblood, teased Ron about how poor he was and just picked on Harry for merely living as the Boy Who Lived. So Ron decided, considering that he was wide-awake, that he wasn't going to go anywhere. He pulled himself out a chair and sat himself painfully down as he could just about make out Malfoy's luminous silver eyes glaring at his every move and glinting eerily in the darkness.

* * *

**Draco – The Slytherin's First Visitor**

Regardless of every fibre of his mind refusing to comply, Draco Malfoy shrieked. He had never been in this much pain before. The Slytherin squeezed shut his eyes and clenched his snarling teeth as he kicked off the covers that were unwelcomingly warming his already sweat-soaked and shuddering body. Despite this, his naturally cold skin soon cooled him down and caused him to shiver with cold sweats and further stabbings of agony. Bloody Madam Pomfrey. Draco was convinced that the old bat made him drink extra amounts of Skele-Gro to leave him screaming in anguish throughout the night just because he'd accidentally broken a few fingers and his knuckles again in clenched fury when Granger had kissed Weasley goodbye. Malfoy snarled again at the thought of her filthy lips on his pale, freckled cheek (among other places) but made sure to keep his fists open. Oh yes, he was going to get her. On his ever-increasing revenge list, she was there right after Potter. And bloody Madam Pomfrey, too. Being faculty staff didn't make her any less likely to feel the Malfoy wrath, and by God, she was _really _going to feel it by the time Draco was done. 

The bone that was clearly protruding underneath the skin at the back of his hand gave a sudden crack. His already closed eyes squeezed even tighter as his jaw began to numb with his clamping of teeth; a barely audible hiss escaped his lips as he squirmed in pain within the bed, unconsciously twisting the bed sheets tightly around his legs.  

Draco knew the deal. 

He knew bones had to be shifted, cracked, and regrown several times before they could heal, but it didn't mean he had to bloody like it. 

Fucking Weasley. 

It was all his fault. 

With his perfectly freckled complexion and stunningly short temper. That bloody muggle-lover. Oh Draco would get him too and in an entirely more enjoyable manner than the others… 

Another sharp cracking of bones and dull rotation of muscle commenced. Draco could only manage a feeble whimper and a shudder. It was only a matter of time before he passed out with the pain. He couldn't wait till he did and, for once, didn't viciously rebuke himself for any sign of weakness. 

It was just when he'd _almost_ pleaded to a non-existent higher being to either just fucking knock him out or kill him, when he heard it.

"Are… are you alright, mate?" 

A soft voice suddenly parting through the layers of torture. 

Weasley. 

Draco didn't move. 

He felt another crack jerk his entire hand violently but he didn't make a peep. It wasn't that his breathing was stable or anything; the Slytherin had just stopped doing it altogether. He just lay there absolutely still, frozen, immobile and trying hard not to get _hard_ at the very presence of the boy. 

But what the heck was Weasley doing up? Shouldn't he still be unconscious? 

Draco had felt almost affronted. He'd given Weasley his best shots and he expected, no… _knew_ that not even Madam Pomfrey, with her brilliance for healing, could restore the boy so quickly. 

He could hear the nervous pacing of bare feet against floor.

Draco had never heard Weasley's voice with such compassion and concern in it… but that was mainly because his very presence usually caused the redhead to growl bad-temperedly at everyone around. 

Weasley had obviously mistaken him for someone else. He would never have been so nice had he known that Draco Malfoy, his sworn and frequently 'sworn at' enemy, was lying in the bed beside his. 

The Slytherin, trying to resemble a hunk of lifelessness, almost debated (for about half a second) with himself whether he should shut up and continue to listen to Weasley speak to him as a friend. However, he discovered that his Nancy Boy side was sentimental and stupid and he was much too proud of himself to ever pretend to be anyone but the magnificent Draco Malfoy. With a determined sneer on his face, though Weasley obviously couldn't see it, Draco smirked to the best of his ability through the pain.

"What the fuck do you want, Weasley?" 

He could practically feel the heat radiating out of the boy. Just a little closer and he could warm the freezing Slytherin up. Promptly realising his thoughts, Draco mentally punched himself for being such a Queen. 

"You're keeping me up with your crying, Malfoy," he heard the Weasel say with difficulty. He was probably clenching his perfect teeth again as his body trembled with anger. Draco tried his hardest not to feel turned on by the image of a trembling, furious Ron Weasley with pure malice in his eyes… wait a second; he just called Draco Malfoy a fucking cry-baby. "I just wanted you to shut the hell up so I could get back to sleep." 

Draco growled an absolutely genuine growl. Who the heck did pansy-arsed Weasley think he was? Wasn't he the chicken-shit who ran away screaming for his mummy or jumping like a girl on the table at the sight of a measly spider? Measly fucking Weasley.

"Be a good little Gryffindor and trot off back to bed, Weasley," the Slytherin hissed, trying to speak icily through the sudden slice of agony tearing through his left hand. Gritting his snarling teeth, he tried to finish the job properly, his hate slowly bubbling up again. "And while you're there, don't ever bother waking up." 

Draco didn't actually silently wish Weasley would trot into his and slip in beside him. 

Another throng of undiluted torture burst upon the raw nerves in his hands and Draco couldn't stop himself from reacting; he bit upon his lip hard to stop the extent of the noise but Weasley would still have heard the moan.

"Hurt much, does it, Malfoy?" He could hear the bastard simply glowing with happiness. Draco wanted to say something. Something that would cause the boy to jump him and try and throttle him until he passed out. However, all he could manage was a pathetic,

"Fuck off, Weasley." 

As soon as he said it, he felt stupid. And Malfoys hardly ever felt stupid. He'd get Weasley for that after his hands had recovered… again.

"Nah, Malfoy. I'd rather watch you in pain," Weasley said beaming, as he sat down and looked at Draco, who was too busy squinting through the black at the way the redhead moved his body to react too much to the comment. In fact, Draco thought it ironically sounded like something _he_ would say. 

Draco supposed that Weasley could just about see him because they were simply glaring piercingly at each other through the darkness. It was the blond who finally broke the deathly silence when Weasley, in something that looked rather like awkwardness, looked away.

"Rather watch me in pain, would you?" the Slytherin smirked at the power he had over the boy's reaction, then swiftly winced in pain. He could see a flash of the Gryffindor's teeth. Draco scowled. "Are you sure you aren't a Slytherin, Weasel?"

"How did you get yourself into this, Malfoy?" Ron asked with a look of distaste, ignoring his earlier comment as he leaned back into the seat and crossed his arms. Draco opened his mouth in slight surprise, but quickly recovered. Shit. Weasley didn't remember. "Do something evil? Did you try to drown a House Elf again and did one hex you this time? Or did they build up a front against sadistic bastards like you?" Draco nearly snorted. 

"Granger would be pleased."To his utter shock, the redhead laughed; an absolutely genuine laugh. Draco's eyes widened in something resembling a mixture of shock and amusement. Weasley looked nice when he laughed. Almost as dazzling as when he was going to punch the Slytherin's lights out… God, Draco would even tongue McGonagall just to get a fierce look on Weasley's face. And to his luck, that look came out with his favourite past time; taunting and teasing the boy silly. 

The Gryffindor, realising that he was actually laughing at a joke by a Malfoy, soon checked himself by coughing it out rather unconvincingly. Weasley could never lie or hide his true emotions. They all just spilled out over his cute, pouting, and often confused, face before he could control them. After years of watching him, Draco knew this better than anyone. The Slytherin suddenly found it oddly fulfilling to know that he caused that reaction. All you needed was to say that Weasley wasn't very rich to get the boy pissed off but to get him to laugh like that… that was a real challenge. 

As Draco analysed all this, he had no idea he was watching Weasley hungrily and smiling with soft spite.

"What the fuck are you smiling at, Malfoy?" Weasley's growl suddenly snapped him out of his thoughts. He could see he was smiling? It must have been getting a bit lighter outside.

Draco found it amazing how quickly the boy could shift emotions. He was probably being extra scowling because he'd allowed himself to truly chuckle at a Malfoy joke, though Draco noted that his face (which he could now see slightly with the sparse morning light) was also wearing that confused look he quite permanently wore in Potions. Draco examined him closer and grinned wickedly. There was nothing in the world finer than a pissed off and utterly clueless Ron Weasley. 

"You, Weasley. I'm smiling at you." He stared at him intensely with his pale eyes and slightly raised a perfectly arched brow. 

"Don't bloody smile at me, Malfoy," Weasley's voice was shaking slightly. This only prompted Draco to continue as the pain stopped for a session – or did he just not notice it? He lips curved even more maliciously.

"Why not, Weasel? You should be used to it. Another face laughing at those rags you call robes and that excuse for a personality shouldn't faze you…" 

The Gryffindor jumped out his seat so fast that the metal pole behind him rattled with his sudden movement. Weasley grabbed Draco's collar tightly and snarled, his blazing face absolutely clashing with his hair as he jerked the blond up viciously into a sitting position. The Slytherin tried not to get too excited as his eyes simply devoured the scene in front of him. 

Weasley raised his (Draco observed enviously) unbroken fist in the air with such might that the Slytherin actually paled but, to the surprise of both, it stayed frozen in the air as the two boys just stared at each other. After a moment of silence and unwavering eye contact, Weasley released his hand from the blond's lapel and suddenly backed off. He was still shaking with fury but managed to stumble backwards quite clumsily and looked at the boy wide-eyed and even paler than before.

"Just… just stay the fuck away from me, Malfoy," his voice quivered slightly, then he abruptly darted back into the darkness.

As he watched the redhead's retreating back, Draco pondered what transpired with a sick feeling in his stomach. Did Weasley assume anything? Did the little shit even dare to entertain that _he _could ever have turned a Malfoy on? The Slytherin shook his head. He hadn't revealed a thing on his face. He knew he hadn't. Even in excruciating pain, Draco could school his features if he wanted to. After all, Slytherins had control, and Malfoys… shit, they were practically born with it. It was just that one time in the hall that he had lost it, and Draco vowed that he would never let anyone, especially not a fucking Weasley, do that to him again. With a small sigh, he lay back down on his bed again, pushing the little doubts from his mind.

Squinting, he could still see Weasley. Draco was satisfied to see that Weasley was hobbling back to his bed; at least he'd done some longer-lasting damage. However, disappointment sunk in when he realised that Weasley was wearing a _closed_ back patient robe. He scowled. 

Bloody Madam Pomfrey.


	5. Out in the Open

_Thank you all for the lovely, lovely replies!!!! Oh, I'm as giddy as a schoolgirl! I was just wondering where you guys want this to go… Should I let Draco get his way and let him snag Ron (he's so persistent) or should I just get Ron to punch Draco in the face and be done? Please let me know… I'm not too sure. And please don't take too long… I'm not sure how much longer Draco can wait. He's also very moody/violent/terrifyingly insane when he's impatient. :)_

* * *

**Harry - Explaining a Few Things…**

"Oh, Ron! You're awake!" 

Even Harry had to wince at the exuberance in Hermione's voice as she wrapped her arms enthusiastically around a still bed-ridden Ron, joyful tears streaming down her cheeks. Ron made a disgruntled noise.

"No, I'm not.." the redhead mumbled as he delved underneath the luxurious covers once again, covering them completely over his head. Harry couldn't help but smile at the way a sleepy-looking and very grumpy redhead finally popped into view and tried in tired desperation to wriggle out of Hermione's crushing grasp. " 'Mione! Please… air!" Sheepishly, Hermione released her friend, wiping her tears away with the back of hand. Ron sighed, but blushed slightly as he smiled up at her. "Nice to know I was missed."

Hermione threw up her hands in exasperation.

"Of course you were missed! Oh, Ron! You have no idea how worried we were!" Harry smiled at Hermione as he conjured a clean handkerchief for her from the end of his wand and handed it to her. Hermione took it briskly and blew her nose loudly, still managing to talk. "And being stuck with Malfoy after your ordeal! I hope he didn't start anything…"

Ron shook his head and shrugged.

"Nah. It's not like I can't handle that slimy little git anyway."

_Except for that time in the hallway_, Harry thought grimly. 

Ron suddenly caught Harry's eye and smiled mischievously. "Besides, it was worth putting up with him because Madam Pomfrey gave him some Skele-Gro. Don't know how he broke em, but he was crying about his knuckles all night! You should have seen it, Harry...!" Harry laughed along with his friend until he looked at the expression on Hermione's face. She looked pale and her watery eyes were very wide. That was when it suddenly dawned on him. Ron just told them that he didn't know what happened to Malfoy. That meant he didn't actually know what happened to himself… Of course! Harry was wondering why his friend wasn't acting more aggressive by the sound of Malfoy's name. 

Oh Jesus. 

How the hell was he supposed to tell him? 'Sorry Ron, but your worst enemy beat you in a fight and also thinks you'd look pretty good naked'.

Luckily for him, Hermione unsurely stepped forward.

"Ron, you don't… you don't actually remember what happened to you?" Hermione's voice was trembling, her eyes darting to Harry's nervously. Ron shook his head, shrugging blithely with a little smile.

"Nope. Did I get teamed up with Neville again in Potions?" Harry felt as though his stomach was churning glass. Ron looked so carefree. If he only knew that Malfoy had beaten him to a pulp then snogged him senseless… literally. Harry looked at Hermione, hoping that she would continue but the young witch just stood there with her mouth slightly open. Ron's brow furrowed as he looked from one to the other, finally connecting that something odd was going on. "Herm… Harry…? What the heck aren't you guys telling me?" The confusion on his friend's face, though Harry was quite used to it by now, made him uneasy. He saw Hermione's eyes dart in a terrible impression of inconspicuousness to Malfoy's curtain-drawn bed and it didn't take Ron long to notice the attention she gave to it. 

Harry, biting his bottom lip, looked out the window and caught sight of the Quidditch field, wishing furiously to be transported there and onto a broomstick instead of in here and lying through his teeth. He and Professor Dumbledore seemed to be the only people who really knew the whole truth and neither thought it would be in anyone's best interests to tell another soul, including Hermione, Professor McGonagall and even Ron. Dumbledore had set down Violet's thoughts in a Pensieve for later reference, then placed Memory charms on Violet, the Fat Lady and the other pictures, who thankfully didn't mention the kissing to any of the students. Harry cringed at how Fred and George would have reacted if they heard exactly what Malfoy had done to their little brother _and_ if they knew the real reason why Ron's lips had been split in several places. He could see looks of pale horror on two identical faces, and the thought made him snigger. It was only when Ron spoke again that he realised that they still had a few things to explain.

"Hermione…" Harry winced and squeezed his eyes shut at the edge in Ron's voice; he was as serious as he could get. "How in the blazes did I get in here?" His best friend was leaning back against his head frame of his bed with crossed arms and an irked look on his freckled face, though he did look rather comical with a bandage wrapped around his head and his lips pursed. With an eventual sigh at the way Hermione kept opening and closing her mouth like a fish, Harry rolled his eyes slightly and plopped down on the edge of Ron's bed. He caught Ron's gaze, and his friend gave him an impatient, though wary, nod of encouragement. Harry wondered how he was going to tell him and blushed as a sudden graphic mental image of the truth jumped into his head.

"You, err… got hit." It wasn't exactly the most eloquent way he wanted to put it. Ron's expression, if that was possible, became even more baffled.

"I got hit?" Hermione nodded in concurrence, jumping uneasily from one foot to the other.

"A couple of times actually." She then laughed in such a nervous and squeaky way at her own words that Harry had to turn to make sure she hadn't turned into a House Elf. Ron just stared at her. His wide eyes seemed to be more expressive then Harry thought because Hermione suddenly dropped down next to Harry on the bed, grasping Ron's tubed hand and looking frantically worried "Oh Ron, I hadn't seen so much blood in my life! We were so worry that Malfoy had killed you!" Harry sucked in his breath. Well, he supposed that was one way of telling him…

"MALFOY!?" Ron's enraged face snapped sharply around to look at Harry in incensed disbelief, who just nodded weakly, then laughed rather awkwardly.

"Hey… I mean, at least he broke his knuckles in the process." 

Ron didn't seem to be laughing. He looked like his head was going to explode.

Then he jumped out of his bed. 

Both Harry and Hermione jumped up after him, and actually ran to either side of him when they saw him grasp his aching head; an obvious side effect from jumping up so suddenly and so swiftly. He stood swaying on the spot, clutching his temples with both index fingers and with a look of pure agony on his face, causing both his friends to reach out for him in panic. He shrugged them off and instead turned and grabbed Harry's shoulders, looking at his friend in painful imploration. 

"Not even one good shot, Harry? Eh? Didn't I even poke the bastard in the eye?" Harry didn't know what to say. Ron licked his dry lips nervously, looking at his best friend almost as though he was going to cry. Harry opened his mouth, doing a perfect impression of Hermione, and just shrugged, shook his head and made an uncertain face.

"I-I… I really don't know, Ron…" 

Ron finally released Harry's shoulders, much to the latter's relief. Harry had a feeling he'd be left with huge bruises by the end of the day but at that moment he was too worried about Ron's mental state. His answer seemed to be all Ron needed as he suddenly snarled. 

"I'm going to kill him." 

He looked serious. 

Harry looked at Hermione in dread as Ron stood trembling furiously on the spot, his face and ears turning a blazing crimson. 

Before either of them knew it, he had belted towards Malfoy's bed, though still limping slightly, and fiercely pulled back the curtains. When they reached him, slightly slower then they had actually wanted to, they could see exactly why Ron had stopped. 

The bed was empty and unmade. 

Ron, looking primarily shocked, shook his head and mumbled in bewilderment to himself.

"He was here yesterday… I talked to the little shit yesterday…" Harry could hear his friend say, his forehead creasing in puzzlement as the colour slowly drained from his freckled face.

"Looking for something, Mr Weasley?" They all turned to the sound of Dumbledore's voice from the doorway, and each of them did a double take when they caught sight of the Headmaster. With him stood Draco Malfoy, looking less pale and appearing to be smiling, not smirking. 

Both Harry and Hermione were so shocked to see Dumbledore's hand compassionately on Malfoy's shoulder and Malfoy looking normal that they didn't hold Ron back when he pounced on the Slytherin.

* * *

**Draco - The Deal**

One minute he was in bed, the next thing Draco Malfoy knew, he was being marched down the winding and empty corridors of Hogwarts, up a flight of never-ending stairs and was now sitting in an odd round shaped room and on the other side of the Headmaster's desk. And all the while he was still in his patient robes and wearing a dingy blue school bathrobe that smelled like dust, cobwebs, mould and that grease that Snape copiously slopped into his chin-length, stringy black hair. Draco was very thankful that it was far too early for anyone even remotely sane to be up and also that there were no mirrors in his view. He would have died of embarrassment if either were in the vicinity.

Looking up and shrewdly around the oddly interesting room, he noticed Dumbledore was giving him that infuriating smile once again as the old man stroked the scarlet bird that sat itself upon his knee; the animal staring at Draco very watchfully. He'd seen a phoenix before once. It had been a shimmering, silvery colour and had belonged to one of his father's fellow Death Eating buddies. The young Draco Malfoy could tell even back then how beautiful and rare it truly was. The bird that was sitting in front of him was just as stunning. 

Draco couldn't help but scowl at it. 

Fawkes's observant eyes seemed to flash with annoyance as it merely squawked back at him, which only induced Draco to hiss and narrow his pale grey eyes. The Slytherin heard Dumbledore chuckle, abruptly bringing his gaze to rest on those twinkling, though always compelling, blue eyes in some annoyance. He absolutely loathed laughter, and especially when it was directed to mock him. Hanging around with dolts likes Crabbe and Goyle suited Draco just fine; they were too stupid to make a mocking remark and were too busy guffawing over anything Draco said to ever even dare to defy him. It was just the way he liked things. 

"Ah, I see that you two have not made the best of starts," Dumbledore said as he petted the stupid bird again. Draco could see the open amusement on the old man's wrinkled face. "That _is_ a surprise. Fawkes generally gets on famously with the students." Draco knew exactly which student he was referring to. He crossed his arms and smirked. 

"Even I don't need to point out how different Potter and I are, Professor." Dumbledore leaned back against his chair with a smile as Fawkes flew to his perch, gracefully folding his wings and still watching Draco shrewdly. Draco shot it a look of disdain.

"Indeed, you do not, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore agreed. "However, I think your similarities do need to be stated." Draco raised a brow, with a cool look of distaste on his face.

"Similarities with Potter? And pray, what may they be?" Draco said, trying to look as superior as one could when wrapped in a ragged old bathrobe and showing bare leg up to his knees. Dumbledore was only too happy to disclose, seeming to enjoy the challenging nature of the defiant boy.

"Well, Mr Malfoy… you both bear unhappy home lives, relatives you greatly dislike, a thirst to prove yourselves, independence, strong-will, extremely high intelligence levels and you both seem to have very strong feelings for a certain Mr Weasley, though one, I believe, is more romantic than the other." 

He should have known it would only be a matter of time before his name got dragged up between them. Draco felt very tempted to wipe that smile off the Old Codger's face and in a very violent way, too. However, he decided that he was already in enough trouble as it was and that pelting the Headmaster, who was obviously the only person who could and was willing to help him, wasn't going to do him any favours in the long run. Producing his finest piercing glare, Draco smiled a tight-lipped, cold smile.

"Why did you call me up here so early, Dumbledore?" The Headmaster smiled at the far from subtle topic shift and Draco's obvious wish not to speak about the redheaded Gryffindor, but he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he simply said,

"The board of Governors are to come in a week." Draco had expected as much. He expected to feel more worried, to feel his heart pounding frantically in his chest and to break out in a cold sweat. He expected to feel remorse for what he'd done and to pray that they'd have mercy on him. He just shrugged.

"What will happen to me when they expel me?" Dumbledore smiled softly as he closely examined the nonchalant look on the porcelain looking boy. Draco sat very still as he withstood the inspection, being quite the proficient in dealing with such an assessment, especially considering how long he'd lived under Lucius's roof. Dumbledore leaned further back into his magically reclining chair.

"A very pessimistic view of life, if I do say, Mr Malfoy." Draco snorted.

"Cut the crap, Professor. You know it as well as I do. They'll let me stay in this school the day Voldemort encourages his followers to marry Mudbloods. How long am I allowed to stay after it's officially pronounced?" The twinkle in Dumbledore's eye had gone.

"A full fortnight, as stated by the laws of the school." 

Draco merely nodded, feeling strangely numb. 

Uncaring. 

Blasé. 

He, to put it simply, just didn't seem to give a shit. 

But he should have. He knew this was his whole future. If he wanted to amount to anything, he needed to finish his education. And Draco Malfoy always knew that he was destined for greater things. But without finishing his fifth year… what could he possibly become? He couldn't do Advanced Spells. Not even Potions, and he was better than that Mudblood Granger at that. He could Transfigure a top hat into a rabbit… but what good would that be in the real world? And his dreams about becoming an Animagus…

Shit. He couldn't even fucking Apparate without a licence from Hogwarts… not that Lucius hadn't already taught him illegally how to do it or anything… 

With a small sigh, Draco shrugged to himself. He might as well have been born a Squib like Filch. Well… on a lighter note, Draco supposed he could always be his assistant so he could hang about the school and spy on Weasley in the shower without his knowing... 

Sitting in an office with Dumbledore really wasn't the best time to be thinking about a naked and wet Ron Weasley. Draco tried to shudder the image away.

God, he needed help.

He went back to thinking about his future, or, more appropriately, the lack of it. At least that would settle him down and bore him to death.

Starting a new school in his fifth year was hardly very sensible either, Draco supposed, especially considering the fact that he'd done all his exams at Hogwarts… and how exactly was he to afford tuition and school supplies?

Then it suddenly dawned on him. The only thing that made him start to really panic.

He was poor. 

Shit.

He had no money. 

Shit.

He was skinter than even the fucking Weasleys. 

Double Shit.

"Mr Malfoy, are you quite well?" Draco's head shot up with the sudden address. The concern in Dumbledore's face was almost comforting. Almost. 

He didn't even realise how pale he'd become until he looked down at his trembling, pallid hands. He clasped them tightly before the Headmaster could see his infrequent vulnerability. It looked as though he was holding a tiny bludger between his hands.

"I'm fine," he almost snapped. This would never do. He couldn't lose his temper. What kind of a Malfoy was he? Steering his features until he made them apathetic, he smirked though managed to do it half-heartedly. "I'm just going through my meagre life choices, Professor, and realising that they won't actually lead me remotely towards a life." Dumbledore looked genuinely apologetic, but Draco was too busy glaring at his hands and eventually making them cease trembling to notice. He didn't want his sympathy.

He heard Dumbledore's chair scrapping backwards and heard the old man's footsteps. Again, he felt his hand on his shoulder. 

"I have a deal to make with you, Mr Malfoy. Will you hear it?" Draco looked up, his normally cold features genuinely puzzled. Catching the significant look in Dumbledore's eyes, he could only nod.

"You will continue to stay at this school, but secretly. No one must know. The Whomping Willow leads to a house; consequently it happens to be the Shrieking Shack, which, I can safely assure you, is far from haunted. You will be given an Observer Screen to allow you to watch your lessons without your being present. Your teachers will set you assignments every night and they will come to collect them when the deadlines are due. You will have your own house elves and a plate and goblet that will be automatically filled when everyone's inside Hogwarts is. Under no circumstances must any other student visit you or know about this arrangement. I am already risking my own suspension by letting you stay, so only certain teachers will know of this. You may go to Hogsmeade at appointed times and must never allow yourself to be seen. Do you agree to these terms, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco was speechless. He ran through all the little requirements. Shit. He'd never had it so made. There had to be a catch. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Why… why the hell do you want to help me, Dumbledore? What do I have to do for it?" Dumbledore merely smiled solemnly.

"I just dislike seeing wasted talent, Mr Malfoy."

They stared at one another with an unspoken understanding. Draco couldn't help his cocky side from unleashing.

"Thinking pessimistically aren't we, Professor?" he smirked, though despite himself, smiled slightly, too. "You've practically declared me as expelled." Dumbledore chuckled good-naturedly and his eyes twinkled so brightly that Draco had squint from their intensity.

"Cut the crap, Mr Malfoy. I know it as well as you do. Now, if you would follow me…" Dumbledore turned to the Slytherin as he walked towards the exit. "… I must get you back to the Hospital Wing before Madam Pomfrey scolds me silly."


	6. The Fight

**Ron – Sweet Payback**

"Are you looking for something, Mr Weasley?" 

His ears were beating with such force due to his initial anger that the voice was barely distinguishable. His head continued to spin and his eyes were aching as they attempted to deal with the wild kaleidoscope of colours enthralling his currently weakened mind. He blinked repeatedly until they went away but all he saw as a replacement was Malfoy's empty bed, and the very absence of that git was actually paining him as he put his finger gingerly to his throbbing, red freckled temple.

He was in utter confusion. Malfoy should be in that bed. But he was not. And Ron's head wasn't sure if it could deal with such a twist in its present condition. 

_Am I looking for something…?_ He mentally answered the voice_. Yeah. A ferret-faced little something… Seen one about?_

With a creased brow and a perplexed bite of his healing lips, Ron pondered in genuine befuddlement.  

Where the heck was that stupid prick?

Not knowing that he wasn't actually well enough to put that phrase anywhere but his inner monologue, Ron waited for a response, anger dying down as he simply scratched his puzzled, dizzy head and watched the unmade sheets in frustration, just in case Malfoy popped out from that tiny little fold in the corner there… However, hearing Hermione's gasp and practically heeding Harry's jaw hitting the floor, Ron turned his still flustered gaze to the doorway. He stopped in his tracks. There stood the object of his inflictions.

Malfoy.

All he saw was Malfoy.

And an oddly happy looking Malfoy at that.

Ron scowled, his face contorting with rage as confusion ebbed away immediately.

Yeah, he knew why the bastard was happy. He was happy because he'd put Ron in the infirmary. He was glowing with the knowledge that he'd beaten senseless not only a bigger and tougher boy, but a Weasley at that. God, Malfoy was practically laughing at his luck. Laughing at the way he'd only damaged his knuckles. Laughing at the way he was going to tell the whole school what a sap Ron was as soon as they got out of the infirmary. Laughing at the fact that Ron had lost his memory of the fight when they talked last night. Laughing at Ron's weakness. The bloody ferret-face was laughing at _Ron_.

The redhead knew the symptoms. 

Malfoy had used them on him countless times in the past and he had risen to every single one of them, even with Harry trying to hold him back and Hermione politely telling the blond to 'sod off…' and today was no exception. Ron was going to get that smug little shite who stood there with not a scratch on his pale, flawless self. He was going to see the contrast of a swollen black eye and a fat purple lip on snow-white skin and imprint it into his mind. He was going smash Malfoy's pretty little face and show him that Weasley's may have been poor, but they were still twice whatever a stinking, filthy Malfoy was… 

And by God, he was going to prove it.

The Gryffindor didn't actually recall running across the room, but he knew that he had somehow managed, in his condition, to grasp Malfoy's collar roughly and had slammed the pasty-faced git's back _damn_ hard against the nearest wall, causing both Harry and Hermione to simultaneously cry out,

"Ron… No!" 

However, Ron barely heard his two best friends. His steaming, furious face peered in pure hatred at the utterly taken aback Slytherin as both Ron's hands tightening their grasp around the collar of that darn ugly bathrobe he was wearing. 

Just the look on Malfoy's face was worth it.

The untouchable, cool and arrogant prick looked absolutely gobsmacked. 

His normally narrowed, pale grey eyes were now wide and clouded with subtle alarm. His mouth was hanging slightly open in surprise, as though every cutting sentence he'd ever known had suddenly escaped him and he had paled even more than should have been legal. The boy didn't look like he'd seen a ghost, he looked like the ghost itself. And Ron was utterly delighted.

God, was that the way Ron looked when Malfoy had attacked him? No wonder the little sadist had looked so smug when he first walked in.

Unfortunately for Ron, it took only a few seconds for the Slytherin to rediscover his usual composure and Malfoy's initial surprise was very soon replaced by a vicious snarl as he attempted to wriggle furiously from Ron's grasp, hissing as the Gryffindor's hands twisted tighter around his collar and pushed him further up the wall so his flailing feet barely scraped the ground. Malfoy jerked about angrily in the redhead's mighty grasp, snarling and swearing but still managing to subtly look warily down at where his feet should have been resting. 

Ron felt himself growing even angrier as he held him up with shaking hands. What was wrong with the stupid git? Why wasn't he using his hands to push him off? Why wasn't the slimy creep using his knees to kick Ron right where it hurt? Why wouldn't the bastard just punch him again so Ron could punch him back? All he needed to do was to insult him and Ron would pounce… why wouldn't he just fucking let him?

Ron looked up in scornful revulsion at the now taller Malfoy as the pale blond glowered down to catch his bright, incensed eye with his own feline slits, his struggles slowly ceasing until he was completely still.

It must have been hours. They simply glared at each other; both strangely out of breath and gasping for air. 

Nobody moved. Not Harry and Hermione behind him, who Ron had completely forgotten about or Dumbledore, who the redhead hadn't even noticed. And especially not Draco Malfoy, who was still pinned slightly above the ground and against the infirmary wall

The bastard soon smiled in faint malice.

"You going to punch me, Weasel?" the Slytherin shit rasped with a pained smirk, breaking the stony, prolonged silence. Ron took no time at all in releasing one side of Malfoy's collar and swiftly raising that fist in the air, the other hand twisting tighter around the fabric without the support of the first as it successfully kept him above the ground.

"I should wipe that smirk off your face, you git!" he spat out in rage.

"You should be thanking me, Weasley," Malfoy sneered, still out of breath though composed as his wicked eyes glinted malevolently down at the redhead. "I improved that ugly mug of yours."

"One more fucking word, Malfoy…" Ron hissed dangerously as his hand tightened even further, causing Malfoy to grimace; his clenched fist, now shaking in mid-air, was held with enormous restraint. "Just one more…" Even going blue from lack of air, the Slytherin was still fighting for cool control and although he was literally being driven up the wall, he was intentionally taking Ron with him.

"How articulate, Weasley." Malfoy struggled for breath but managed to smirk - how the heck did he do it? Why didn't he just wheeze and splutter like everyone else? His arctic eyes danced. "Did that lump you call a mother teach you that?"

Oh, that was it. That was the final straw.

Without a second thought or hearing both Harry's and Hermione's cries, Ron punched the blond with all his strength in the gut then finally let his collar go, causing the git to fall lifelessly on his knees to the floor, clutching his stomach in agony. Ron had truly never seen anything so brilliant. He had never felt so content in his life but just then, looking down at a heaped Draco Malfoy, crying out in pain because of _him_. He even managed to smile smugly as he leaned down breathlessly, his palms flat on his thighs; Malfoy's moans like a phoenix's song to his ears.

"Sorry, Malfoy. Got distracted. What were you saying again?"

* * *

**Draco – Not the face…**

That stupid little fuck. 

He may have been absolutely stunning but that wouldn't stop Draco from rearranging his face… again. Who the hell did the Weasel think he was? Punching a Malfoy? And the best looking one at that? Draco looked up at him through his silver-blond strands of hair and growled, cradling his pained stomach with both hands. The bastard was looking down at him with a fucking smug smile, like a lustrous and luminous saint looking down at a common man. 

The fucking cheek.

Draco was far from common. 

Oh, Weasley was going to get it for even daring to think that he could take him on. He was going to break that perfect nose again and again and again until it would never heal and then kiss down on it so viciously that tears would spring to the boy's eyes and pained moans would escape him. 

He was going to wipe that smirk off of Weasley's lips and teach him that the only person allowed to look so self-satisfied was _him._

Draco grabbed the bare legs in front of him and pulled them so hard towards him that Weasley, completely taken by surprise, fell straight flat on his back with a loud thump. The Slytherin, though should have been trying to plan _very_ un-sexual things to do to Weasley from his position, couldn't help himself from stopping and appreciating the scene. From this angle, he could nearly see up Weasley's robe.

Bugger. 

Only _nearly_. 

The redhead lifted his head up to look at Draco with a mixture of anger, confusion and shock. If he only knew the thoughts running through the blond's head, including an observation of how hands were such versatile limbs… 

Th Slytherin shuddered in slight pleasure at the imagery as he thought of the possibilities…

Looking back on the situation now, Draco would berate himself for being so weak and for letting Weasley's allurements distract him, because his lengthily pause allowed the Gryffindor to pounce and seize his pale, slender throat with both his strong, large hands. 

Oh fuck.

"Want a piece of me, Malfoy?" the redhead growled, his hands tightening as Draco merely watched him, unsure whether to be extremely peeved off or very turned on.

_Oh yes, please. Can I choose which?_

Shit. 

He was being distracted again.

Fucking Weasley. It was _all_ his fault. 

_Scowl. Make a face. Show your fucking teeth…_ his head instructed and Draco readily followed as best he could as he squirmed under Weasley's weight.

"It's not like I couldn't afford it, Weasley," Draco sneered back spitefully, though he really had to work hard to get his words out. Why the fuck did Weasley always have to go after his neck? And who did he think he was by climbing on top? Malfoys were _always_ on top.

Weasley lifted his fist again and Draco paled with sudden dread, shifting and squirming and trying to escape the larger boy's grasp in almost desperation.

Oh shit. Not the face. Not the face. Not the face. He'd better not touch the face… He better pray for his life that he doesn't touch the face…

Weasley hit the face.

Draco could taste the blood on his stinging bottom lip as Weasley hit him again, this time right into his eye, making it thunder with pain. He blinked back the tears in that one, blurred eye as he looked up at Weasley through the other. You didn't need Draco's intelligence to know that both hits were going to leave ugly bruises and cuts. He could feel the anger bubbling up inside him like Longbottom's cauldron in Potions. 

Weasley was dead.

With a furious hiss, he kneed the Gryffindor harshly with a sharp kneecap right in the groin, causing Weasley to squeeze shut his eyes, clench his teeth and roll off the Slytherin… grabbing said part of his anatomy and trying not to howl with agony. 

Even wheezing for breath, Draco managed to get gracefully to his feet and pulled out his wand from his robe pocket. With his luck and current circumstances, he knew never to go anywhere without it. However, as soon as he turned to aim it at the lying form of the redheaded boy, several things happened at once. 

Granger screamed "Ron!" to warn her friend. 

Potter suddenly lunged at Draco, grabbing his waist and pushing him to the floor.

Dumbledore, deciding enough was enough, shouted out "Expelliarmus!" and caught Draco's wand effortlessly with one hand.

And Draco had realised that, with his wand steady, that he didn't actually want to harm the Gryffindor. 

And it was the last thought that was absolutely tormenting him. Draco had no conscience… so why the hell didn't he blast the boy into chunks of loose flesh? The Gryffindor bastard had touched _the face_. Ordinarily, the little redheaded fuck would have been a pile of dust.

Fuck you, Weasley. He was even affecting the Slytherin's evil thoughts. 

The irate blond pushed Potter's skinny mass off of himself viciously, causing the boy to fall backwards and his glasses to fall slightly askew. Draco was tempted to do more to the annoying little shit for having the gall to touch and sully him, mainly involving his fist and Potter's face, but a voice that could make even Voldemort shake in his evil little boots halted him.

"That's enough, Mr Malfoy." He heard Dumbledore's stern voice directly above him; the old man's feet suddenly by his left leg.  "Do not make me stupefy you." He then promptly offered a hand, shaking his head softly, implying to Draco that he was disappointed in him. The Slytherin snorted but, reluctantly, took it anyway. He was becoming such a proficient in accepting help that it was beginning to fucking sicken him.

"I didn't see you trying to pull him off me, Dumbledore," Draco snarled as he was lifted onto his feet, still trying to get back his breath. Dumbledore wasn't fazed by the look of pure venom as he shrugged slightly.

"Well, I did believe that expulsion should have been enough to atone for your sins, Mr Malfoy… however, I now deliberate, considering the situation we discussed…" here he raised his eyebrows conspiratorially at Draco, "…that Mr Weasley at least deserved a good swing at you." His eyes were gleaming with amusement behind his spectacles. 

It seemed that the redheaded Gryffindor, still sprawled on the floor next to his best friend, had suddenly snapped out of his daze to only be forced into another. God, he was fucking sexy when he was completely dense.

"Expulsion?" Ron spluttered in obvious shock, blinking through his surprise. 

"What the fuck do you care, Weasley," Draco sneered, dusting the dust off his already permanently tainted bathrobe in an almost aristocratic fashion, glaring piercingly at the wide-eyed boy. "You and your Gryffindor camp can go and fucking celebrate now, can't they?" 

"Language, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore said in a slightly harsher, no-nonsense tone that Draco knew not to defy as he merely crossed his arms and growled at the headmaster. "And I suggest you had better knock on Madam Pomfrey's door to wake her. You may need to spend even _mor_e time in her healing influence." 

Fucking Dumbledore.

And Fucking Madam Pomfrey, too. That stupid old bat. If she even tried to give him anymore Skele-Gro he'd force-feed her an exploding cracker.

He snarled again.

"Lucky me," Draco hissed sardonically under his breath, then turned sharply, hitting a still trembling Granger on his way, and headed reluctantly towards the door at the far end. As he knocked in bitter anger on the door, he glared across the room to see Dumbledore turn to Weasley, who was still sprawled on the ground. What a nice image…

"Now, if you are finished being reacquainted with the floor, Mr Weasley," the old man said as he chuckled down at the redhead's still baffled expression. "I have an important matter to discuss with you in my office."

* * *

_Exploding cracker reference is from the Harry Potter PC game when Draco tries to blow up the Entrance Hall – made me giggle. _


	7. Secrets

**Ron – Am I in trouble?**

The youngest Weasley boy didn't realise how fast Dumbledore could actually walk as he panted after the swift headmaster down the winding corridors and staircases, fear suddenly assaulting his already aching self. The portraits on either side of them were whispering conspiratorially, following him closely with their eyes and were jumping energetically to each other's frames while they pursued his path, making him feel suddenly very anxious. He nervously looked around the halls of Hogwarts as he passed them longingly, just in case it was the last time he saw them ever again; the redhead trying to keep the brilliant memories of this place fresh in his mind. 

But Dumbledore surely didn't want to… well, expel him too, did he? But Ron _had,_ just now, initiated the fight with Malfoy… 

Ron, unsuccessfully trying to ignore the pictures, was sure he heard two chubby witches in the corner frame whispering the phrase 'Suspension's too good for the likes of him' while Sir Cadogan praised him in loud admiration and practically saluted Ron for having such a good right hook. 

But who cared about right hooks when he was being kicked out? However, Dumbledore had a happier aura about him and well, he didn't dislike Ron so much that he would be _that_ glad to see the back of him… right? Dumbledore was cheerful that Malfoy got punched and was going to gift Ron with a 'Special Services to the School' award, right? Ok, now he was thinking hopefully. But he wasn't going to expelled. No way. 

The pictures began to snigger as he started to feel cold sweat trickle down his back; a look of sheer panic crossing the Gryffindor's face.

Ron gulped loudly, feeling his queasiness and dizziness coming back full force as he wiped the perspiration off his upper lip. 

"Err… I'm not in trouble, am I, Professor?" Dumbledore turned, still walking swiftly, and smiled softly as he quirked an eyebrow.

"Not at all, Mr Weasley." He turned back around. The pictures erupted with more whispers. The redhead knew he was hiding something.

Ron felt suddenly ill, wishing he hadn't eaten all those Chocolate Frogs in the morning. He was definitely in trouble. Going to Dumbledore's office was never a good sign… and what had he said to him in the infirmary again? An 'Important Matter' to discuss? He supposed expulsion was as important as anything really… 

Sheesh, Ron had only ever heard of the office from Harry, who'd been there so often that it was like a second home and even then, his best friend _was_ the Boy Who Lived. 

But he was only Ron Weasley. The shadow. The sidekick. The one who never got picked exclusively. The one who was never ever taken _alone _to the headmaster's office.

Who on earth would notice him when Harry was around? 

Yeah, he felt slightly resentful about it but Harry was too good a friend to blame for his unwanted notoriety. 

But now he was getting off the subject. 

He hurried after Dumbledore as he turned to the next corridor, nearly missing the way the headmaster had gone. Of course, Ron mused, Dumbledore had told him that he could have talked to Ron right there in the Hospital Wing if the Gryffindor wasn't feeling up to it, but he refused, assuring the headmaster he was fine. At least this way he could draw the news out longer, stop his best friends from hearing it and getting upset and, to a lesser extent, he could finally check out Dumbledore's cool living quarters. 

But the thought of getting chucked out was still weighing on his mind.

The redhead shuddered to think what his mother would say if he ever got kicked out of Hogwarts. He would happily accept the loudest Howler in the world than anything she'd dish out. But he knew the worst punishment of all would be her and Mr Weasley's disappointment. He would do anything to make them proud of him.

This was _all_ Malfoy's fault.

That stupid Slytherin git. Why did he have to be such a complete arse all the time? And did he honestly think Ron wouldn't react after he'd insulted his mother like that? 

The Gryffindor was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly walked straight into Dumbledore's back when the headmaster stopped abruptly in front of a stone gargoyle, standing halfway along an empty corridor. Ron looked around, suddenly awed by his surroundings. He didn't even see how they got here but was now looking on all sides of him carefully. This was just the way Harry had described it. Ron tried not to feel too excited but, luckily for him, he automatically felt low when he thought about his lousy circumstances.

"Earwax flavoured beans," Dumbledore said serenely. Either Dumbledore had gone mad, or that was the password.

The gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside as the stone wall behind him split in two, causing Ron to yelp with the abruptness of its movement. Dumbledore turned and smiled at him affectionately, then walked inside, starting to ascend up the huge spiral staircase behind the wall. Ron jumped quickly after him as the wall threatened to thump shut and lock him out. As he heard it slam behind him, he leapt on the moving stairs just two steps from Dumbledore. 

Ron's mouth dropped open. 

The redhead cautiously looked down at how high they were from the ground and at how the ceiling was nearing closer but, besides that, he was utterly enthralled with the surroundings. So far, they were so… well, _perfect _for Dumbledore. Especially the gleaming oak door with the brass knocker the shape of a griffin that they finally stopped at. The headmaster stood in front of the door grandly, and nonchalantly said,

"Open Saspirilla." The door opened without any creaks and only a fluid, almost magical noise. Turning to a still befuddled Ron, Dumbledore smiled down at him warmly. "I have a certain partiality for Muggle cartoons, Mr Weasley." 

He spoke as though that explained something or other. Ron didn't have a clue what he was on about. It was a joke he was sure Harry and Hermione would have understood. He laughed in weak, strained confusion; he could at least start sucking up now. Maybe it would reduce his sentence…

As soon as he stepped through the door, however, Ron Weasley was pounced upon. 

Oh God. The headmaster wasn't just trying to expel him, he was now trying to feed him to a pet Quintaped*. What had he done to deserve this? 

But, looking down in fear at the figure tightening against his chest, Ron Weasley discovered not a hairy, dangerous five-legged beast but flaming red hair and a noise that sounded like muffled sobbing.

"Mum…?!" he said incredulously as Mrs Weasley's tears soaked through her son's robes and jumper. She looked up at her tall boy with puffy eyes, then pulled his tall frame down by his shoulders and flung her arms around him. Awkwardly and blushingly, Ron complied though soon enough he struggled and just mumbled, "Mum… I'm fine…! Just, you know… you can geroff me now…"

"When Ginny and your brothers sent that owl I thought you were… Oh! And the last thing I ever did was yell at you to get enough O.W.L.s!" Mrs Weasley sobbed as his protests only made her hug him tighter. 

"Mum!" Ron cried out, squirming nervously as he went red with embarrassment. Sheepishly, she pulled away, blowing her nose loudly and dabbing her red eyes with a handkerchief. However, her eyes were still brimming with tears.

"Jeez Mum, you never were good with last words, were you?" George said laughing. 

George? 

Ron figured that Malfoy's punches must have actually gone to his head, because he didn't even notice that his family were sitting by Dumbledore's desk and were now advancing towards the two. George and Fred were grinning broadly as Mr Weasley, Percy and Ginny looked at Ron in pure worry and concern. 

"Are you sure you're alright, Ron?" Ginny asked faintly as she stepped towards her brother. "We were so worried that…"

Ron, suddenly feeling slightly dizzy with the surprise, gingerly touched at his head as he blinked lazily.

"When… when did you all get here?"

"We met mum, dad and Percy when they Apparated to Hogsmeade late last night," Fred explained, still grinning from ear to ear. George looked up and behind Ron as he hollered between cupped hands.

"Yeah, thanks for letting us spend the whole night shopping there, Professor!" Dumbledore chuckled as he entered the room and shut the door, the Weasley exuberance obviously amusing him. Percy looked clearly appalled by his brother's behaviour as the headmaster laughingly lowered himself into his chair.

"Think nothing of it! Your parents and brother indeed needed to be welcomed by friendly faces and I am sure that Ron here would greatly improve in health with the medical remedies you purchased and, of course, all the presents from Honeydukes." Ron's eyes widened, his head was suddenly clear as he looked at his brothers in excited imploration.

"Honeydukes?" he asked hungrily. 

"No fair!" Fred whined with a huff, his voice betraying that he wasn't serious. "We ought to keep it ourselves…! Little git's not even ill anymore!"

"Am too!" Ron answered back childishly. 

His mother, who was still gazing at her son as though he was the most precious jewel in the world, suddenly sighed softly.

"Oh Ron, dear, you have something on your nose." Reaching out high with her hand, she rubbed at his nose with the base of her thumb. However, Ron's yelp of pain caused his mother to withdraw quickly in worry and made the twins snigger. The youngest male Weasley pouted as he stepped away from her, just in case she felt like doing it again.

"I don't think you should have done that, mum!" Ginny said with a genuine laugh that brightened her previously paled features. A moody Ron was just the way he was supposed to be.

"Mum, I don't need it broken again…!" Ron groaned, covering his nose protectively with his hands from his mother. The twins were having a field day.

"Mum, poke the other side, too!" George said eagerly. "You don't want poor little Ronniekins walking around with an uneven nose."

"Think about the bullying, mum!" Fred cried dramatically. The twins were definitely back to their troublesome selves. 

"This really is no laughing matter. Ron could have been seriously hurt." Ron looked up at his father, noticing it was the first time he heard Mr Weasley speak. Arthur Weasley's warm, tired smile was all Ron needed as he turned away, blushing with the affection and smiling like a fool. He'd really missed his family. 

"I agree, father," Percy said, with an indignant sniff. Ron had even missed Percy! Even if he was a snooty old fart. "Some matters require quiet and solitude." Fred rolled his eyes at his brother, triggering a creeping smile on Ron's face as he still rubbed his tender nose.

"Yeah, Percy said that at the last party we went to…"

"I heard that George," Mrs Weasley said crossly. George gave her a look of pure innocence. Ron smirked at how wrong it looked on his brother's usually devilish features. 

"But I'm Fred."

"You're George, so stop denying it."

"Ok, so am I Fred from now on, then?" Fred asked his mother in feigned naivety.

"George!"

"But I'm…"

"I'm Ok, just in case anyone wants to know," Ron added in exasperation, though sneakily knew it would sway his mother to fawn over him again. And he wasn't wrong. Mrs Weasley soon started to hug him as though his limbs might fall apart if she let go and Percy, to Ron's utter surprise, had pulled him into a shaky though uncharacteristically affectionate embrace when the twins had finally managed to extract their mother off of her youngest son. As his father tousled his hair and Ginny, in a rush of instinctive happiness, tiptoed and pecked him on the cheek, Ron heard Fred whisper in mock exasperation his ear.

"Damn Ron, you were always the favourite! Even Percy took a day off work to come here. He didn't even do that when that ministry curse turned him into a giant chicken! He wouldn't have bothered if it was me…"

Ron doubted that was true but didn't bother to answer. Instead, he just smiled widely and blushed, probably looking like an incredibly daft tomato but not really caring. Yeah. Fred was right about one thing though. He was the luckiest guy on earth.

* * *

**Draco – An Almost Civil Conversation**

When Madam Pomfrey had finally opened the door to her chamber, Dumbledore and Weasley had already left for the headmaster's office with Weasley looking very white in the face and suddenly incredibly anxious. 

Damn. The violent little fuck was sexy when he bit alluringly upon his bottom lip like that. And Draco knew how well it tasted…

Granger had also scarpered off too (to Draco's great delight), telling Potter that she had a Prefect meeting or probably some sort of sordid Mudblood gathering. Honestly, the Slytherin just didn't give a shite where she went, as long as she was gone. All he wanted was the little Mudblood out of his sight and he was very content to see her bushy head bobbing out the exit, even if she did make a disgusted face at him before she went. Who the heck did she think she was anyway? How could she judge anyone looking the way she did?

But there was still fucking Potter.

The little Muggle cow had left her friend sitting awkwardly on Ron's unmade bed, twiddling his thumbs and trying not to catch Draco's eye. He was so fucking obvious. His shoes surely weren't so interesting to cause him to stare at them unflinchingly for so long... especially considering how cheap they looked. 

The Slytherin made sure to sneer viciously at the bespectacled prat as he raised his own fist and pounded louder and louder on Pomfrey's chamber door, seeing Potter flinch with every thunderous bang. It was oddly satisfying to see the perfect little Gryffindor and Dumbledore's favourite little pet (besides that stupid squawking red bird) so discomfited… and this only coerced Draco to bang his fist even harder against the wood. It also hopefully was causing Madam Pomfrey to get a splitting headache. 

Fucking Potter. 

How could he honestly think that Draco would find _him_ attractive? That conceited, arrogant little… Oh, it was obvious that all his little mini-adventures had bloated that already giant ego. Draco snorted. Not only was Boy Wonder not worth the blond's time, but Draco would also have liked to remind that little shit that he did _not_ like boys. He was _not_ a fucking queer and he would kill Potter before he even thought about sharing his thoughts with anyone else.

Draco Malfoy was _not_ gay.

The Slytherin did _not, _he ferociously repeats_, not_ get physically turned on by other men.  

Weasley was just an exception to the rule. That was all.

When the chamber door finally slammed loudly open, he turned from the annoying little Gryffindor and his own usually snarling mouth immediately twitched to a derisive grin at his sight. The school nurse appeared in the doorway, scowling something under her breath as she slipped her frilly pink night robes on over her flowery long nightie. Draco didn't bother hiding his snigger as he caught sight of her magical curlers and the matching hairnet. 

How deliciously perfect. 

Madam Pomfrey, who looked like she hadn't slept for days, bitterly and with very strained civility, glared Draco in the eye. She was still an imposing figure, even looking so ridiculous. All she needed were rabbit slippers and she'd be complete. She was swaying slightly with lethargy on the spot, though spoke with pure control.

"What can I do for you this hour of the morning, Mr Malfoy?" How very coldly said. Draco returned to his sneer. Though he recently did note that he was never this disrespectful with the staff, he supposed that he was already expelled. Why not show his true colours to their full extent? What else could they do to him?

"What else would I ask you for, _Pomfrey_?" His pale grey eyes narrowing, as he practically spat her name out in disdain. She pressed her lips together tightly so her mouth became a mere line – oh, he was really getting to her. He couldn't stop himself from grinning wickedly within. The Slytherin got such a rise from seeing that look in people's eyes because of _him_; he supposed that was the only reason he really did it so much. If they ignored him, he'd probably get bored, tire of them and walk away. Her unabashed anger only compelled him to continue as he pointed a delicate finger at his face, gesturing to his marred features. "See the face? Why don't you make a wild guess?" Madam Pomfrey, who was about to open her mouth in vexation, had finally woken up; her heavy-lidded eyes were wide at once as they drunk in every wound and cut on his porcelain complexion, almost as though she'd only just noticed them. She couldn't seem to control her face from lighting up.

"Oh my." The stupid cow was smiling. "Dear me, Mr Malfoy. How vicious a door did you run into?" He could hear Potter sniggering from across the room. That prick.

He scowled. She wasn't allowed to be cocky. That was his field.

"It was _Weasley_," he hissed venomously. He never despised laugher as much as he did right then. He crossed his arms defiantly as he sneered. "But hey, a door… Weasley… I see why you got them confused. They really are so alike. They've both got the same IQ…"

"Shut the hell up, Malfoy." He turned to the sound of the growl.

Ooooh. Potter didn't seem to like that. His green eyes looked so very annoyed that the Slytherin noticed that he didn't actually look as pathetic as he usually did. Draco smirked brilliantly, tossing his hair from his eyes slightly, then berating himself in his mind for such a girl-like flick of the head. Like he wasn't pissed off enough for thinking he was a queen…

"Oh, don't like me picking on your boyfriend, Potter?" Draco asked spitefully. Potter spoke in a softly threatening voice, teeth clenched. Nowhere in the same league as Weasley…

"He's… not… my… boyfriend… Malfoy..." _You'd already be dead if he was, Potter… _ 

"Mr Malfoy, are you going to allow me to treat you or will you merely continue to antagonise fellow students?" Madam Pomfrey suddenly snapped in irritation. He failed to see the justice as he returned her angry stare. Potter had been the one to bloody start it. But of course, he was bloody Potter. 

Everyone loved Potter. The Saviour of the World. The Boy Who Lived… and all that crap. With his 'Why don't we all take turns and kiss his arse?' fan clubs and Mudblood-loving tendencies. His profound Gryffindor courage and sheer loyalty… it was honestly enough to make anyone physically ill. 

The Slytherin had forgotten that he was actually the one who'd woken Pomfrey for treatment and before he could tell her to shove her remedies up somewhere that was far from flattering and could hardly accommodate her shelf full of bottles comfortably, it all turned against him.

Madam Pomfrey had reflexes like a damn cat. She had a bottle of Ready-Mixed Cut Reparo Potion already clutched in her hand and had doused a great amount of it on a cotton swab when Draco finally noticed what she was about to do. He made a face when a ghastly aroma ghosted up his nostrils, almost threatening to eradicate his sense of smell forever. It reeked of pure revulsion, like Muggle bleach, and the Slytherin was reasonably sure it would sting with severe intensity upon his aching sores. Did the bat honestly think that he would willingly walk around smelling like that when he took so long to smell as good as he did? Draco stepped away from her as she advanced towards him.

"Keep away from me, woman…" He warned dangerously, pointing at her threateningly. There was no fucking way he'd put that on himself.

"Oh… stop being such a child!" she scolded with a sigh, suddenly looming toweringly over the Slytherin. Not only trying to taint him but insulting him too. Oh, she was going down… "Let me treat these cuts before you involve yourself in yet _another_ fight, Mr Malfoy."

"Just hand me some Painless Quick Restore Cream, Pomfrey," he snarled, still backing away. Shit, his back was facing a wall. Only a few more steps back and she'd have him.

"There's none left in the cupboard, Mr Malfoy…" she said very calmly as she stepped closer. From the corner of his slightly panicking eye he could observe Potter watching with apt curiosity; smiling slightly. Prick. "…And you can deem its lack of presence your own fault. Mr Weasley required three tubs to cover him."

Bloody Weasley. And bloody him for losing his temper.

His back hit the wall and Pomfrey was on him in a second, like a particularly infuriating rash. No matter how much he managed to squirm, or how skilfully he would place his knees and elbows, the Slytherin only managed to escape her when she'd finished, walked away and placed the blood stained swab into a nearby bin. He could feel the almost buzzing like tingle under his cool skin and the bruise on his eye was throbbing into an almost warming, pleasurable shiver. Licking his dry lips, he could feel them healing and going magically numb. He could also taste the bitter traces of Reparo liquid on them and tried not to gag embarrassingly in front of Potter. He tried to swish the taste away with a mouthful of spit, shuddering as the vile juice slithered down his throat.

"Trying to poison me, Pomfrey?" he rasped, massaging his aching shoulder with his fingers. The stupid cow had dug her fingernails into them when trying to keep him still. 

He felt as though he should have been angrier. 

That he should have been making death threats in his head or planning elaborate and genius ways to murder her. Instead, he actually _reasoned_ that she'd salvaged his face from looking awful for yet another second and that a mere scowl should show his (he cringed at the word) gratitude. She smiled, though for once, the usually wise and mature woman looked quite seemingly triumphant.

"Don't tempt me, Mr Malfoy," she said good-naturedly as she headed back over to her chamber. Without turning away from her goal destination, the matron continued. "Now, I advise you to keep to your bed and eat some of the chocolate I've left by it. And I honestly do not care what Professor Dumbledore affirms, you will be out of my infirmary if you cause any further trouble." Then she opened the door to her chamber, turned her head to give him a stern though slightly smiling look, then marched inside and shut the door swiftly after her.

Draco scowled.

He knew he shouldn't have fucking given her the benefit of the doubt. 

However much he hated doing anything that he was ordered to, he reluctantly complied as he walked self-assuredly to his bed and dropped upon it. Pulling up his legs so he could lie down on the bed, he reached out for a piece of chocolate from his bedside table then leaned back on the one arm he had folded behind his head. The Slytherin slipped the rough cube within his mouth, swirling it around with his tongue and sucking it contentedly until a sludge of melted chocolate coated the roof of his mouth. He licked it softly away with the tip of his tongue, practically purring with satisfaction as he indulged within it fully. The velvet-like taste was so deliciously alluring and unmistakeably sexual that a pervert like Draco would immediately think of many very pleasurable images. And each and every one the Slytherin thought of included a certain, currently absent, Gryffindor. 

Weasley holding a bar of chocolate…

Weasley feeding him a bar of chocolate…

Weasley licking melted chocolate off his hands…

Weasley dipped head to toe in chocolate and lying on a four-poster bed…

Luckily for him, he caught a flash of green before he became too aroused for even the great, cool Draco Malfoy to hide.

Potter was watching him silently from Weasley's bed. 

God, did he know how fucking creepy he was when he did that? 

The Slytherin manoeuvred his arm so he could cross them over his chest as he stared at the boy with disdain.

"Can I help you with something, Potter?" Draco sneered. "Or do you like gawping like the idiot you are at people for no reason?" 

The stupid Gryffindor just stared at him coolly, crossing his own arms and suddenly looking very in-control. Bastard.

"Only as much as you like snogging redheaded boys, Malfoy."

The Slytherin froze. 

That fucking shit.

He'd always known that Potter knew, but hearing it just sounded… well… sick and perverted. And wrong. He narrowed his eyes at the Gryffindor, who still looked as calm as ever. How dare he say boys? Draco only liked _one_ redheaded boy, and that would be the only one… _the only one_… that the Slytherin would ever kiss. Which he already had. 

He wanted to scowl at Potter. He wanted to jump off the bed and stuff his beloved chocolate down the git's throat and make him choke down on it.

But he needed to be in control. He'd already shown far too much emotion. He needed to be fucking untouchable. He needed to be stone cold. 

He stared at Potter intensely with his icy silver eyes, effortlessly matching his stare.

"You going to tell on me, Potter?" he drawled, sounding brilliantly nonchalant. Potter simply shook his head, staring at the Slytherin incredulously as though Draco had just declared that he was secretly engaged to Madam Pomfrey.

"You are seriously fucked up, Malfoy." Why was he so surprised? Even Draco, who adored himself, admitted that. The Slytherin just leaned back against his headboard.

"You should be quieter, Potter," he hissed, his eyes narrowing in soft spite. "You don't want your fan club hearing such language from their God. You might physically scar them for life." He suddenly realised what he said. He actually winced at it. Oh, what a terrible choice of words. Potter seemed to notice too because he suddenly had a mischievous glint in his eye and a smirk on his face replacing his earlier shock.

"I didn't think I'd ever catch you talking in cheap puns, Malfoy, You're losing your touch." 

Draco wasn't losing his touch, but his patience was slowly withering.

"Are you going to fucking tell him or not?"

Whoops. Not as subtle as he wanted to go. Potter was suddenly serious again.

"I'd never do something like that to him." Draco sneered at the whole 'I'd never hurt my best friend' allegiance. What a pile of crap. If he had Weasley, he'd make the boy go through pain all the time just to see his eyes screw up in that oddly gratifying way they had.

"Always the faithful Gryffindor," Draco smirked. "So, you're not going to tell him and I'm not going to tell him. What's the catch?" Potter had a stern, almost intimidating look on his face. Almost.

"To leave us alone," he said plainly. "To leave _Ron_ alone."

Leave Weasley alone? Was Potter fucking insane? How the hell was he going to get his kicks?

But Weasley couldn't know. Nobody could know. Draco would rip Potter limb from limb if he opened that trap… but he knew he wouldn't. He was just as ashamed about the whole matter. 

With a scowl, the Slytherin reluctantly nodded his head.

"Fine," he said. "Done. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone, Potter, I'll throw you off the Astronomy Tower, sell your body to a museum, then have my wicked way with Weasley. Deal?" 

Potter looked at him in dislike, but managed to nod.

"Deal."

* * *

*** Quintaped** – A highly dangerous carnivorous beast with a low-slung body covered in reddish-brown fur and has five legs, each with a clubfoot; found in '_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them'_

_'Open Saspirilla' from Bugs Bunny cartoon._


	8. The Truce

**Ron – What an End to a Perfect Day…**

Mr and Mrs Weasley fervently insisted on spending the entire day with their son, but on reaching the hospital wing and heeding how cross Madam Pomfrey was with her unruly patient, they laughingly decided to leave the youngest Weasley boy so he could rest. Mrs Weasley was the more reluctant of the two to go and Ron smiled at the way Mr Weasley and Percy had to seize her on either side and by the arms to guide her out, though she managed to miraculously squeeze in a couple of kisses and a loving hug as she was dragged away.

Fred, George, Ginny, Harry and Hermione (who'd finally returned from her meeting) spent the rest of the afternoon trying to cheer Ron up by joking and telling him all the latest news. The biggest laugh of all came when Harry disclosed that Neville had somehow amazingly managed to turn Pansy into a horse during the Advanced Configuration class they'd missed and that nobody could actually tell the difference when Professor McGonagall changed her back. 

Ron, who had laughed so much that he hurt all over, felt great. 

Not only was he, Ron Weasley, the centre of everyone's attention but he was also surrounded on all sides by mountains of treats and feeling as though someone had built his own personal Honeydukes around him. He also had a feeling that he was going to get very, very fat by the time he finished it all… but Ron Weasley was never one to waste things, especially not a good sweet or thousand. On thinking about how much money his family had actually spent on all of this when he knew very well that they couldn't afford to made him feel warmly fuzzy inside, though he, in embarrassment, tried to shake the feeling off. He also suspected that Harry and Hermione had something to do with all this, especially the former. Harry had never been comfortable with having so much money and was perfectly happy to give truckloads of it to people he cared about, especially the Weasleys. He probably knew from seeing the opportunity of an unconscious Ron, that the redhead's usual pride couldn't halt him this time. With a shrug, Ron didn't bother to complain. Why not enjoy the fact that your best friend was damn rich? 

With a little smile, he leaned back against the pillows Hermione had fluffed most eagerly as he studied the scene. There were so many packets of everything (even the Canary Creams that Fred and George had slipped in, though everyone knew to avoid them), that stealing treats from the giant mounds became as regular as the jokes. Ron even welcomed it very graciously until Fred and George's snatching fingers tried to take his last Chocolate Frog, causing him to feebly try and protect it with his large hands. In the middle of the two wailing about how he didn't love them enough, Madam Pomfrey bustled over with some Pepper-Up Potion for the invalid and shooed them all out, declaring that her patient needed to get some rest and that the Weasley Twins should take that dreadful racket outside. With a hug from Ginny, a kiss on the cheek from Hermione (both causing him to blush awkwardly in different ways) a beam from Harry and a ruffle of his hair from George as Fred nicked the frog when Ron wasn't looking, they noisily exited the room and left Ron immediately gagging down some force-fed Pepper-Up Potion from Madam Pomfrey. After the steam had finally subsided from his ears, Madam Pomfrey left as quickly as she had arrived, leaving Ron alone in the room and feeling suddenly quite drowsy. All that laughter seemed to have tired him out. The redhead yawned as he snuggled back down properly into his covers, pulled them up to his chin and over his slightly chilly self. 

Yeah, maybe sleep was the best thing for him.

Closing his eyes with still a content smile on his face, Ron Weasley sighed in pure satisfaction. This was the life. No lessons (Ok, it might have been the weekend), loads of attention, loads of free food and _no_ homework. Hermione might have insisted on getting her assignments when she had turned into a cat in their second year (he sniggered to himself) but he would rather have a pet spider than ever ask for work while he was ill. Why ruin one of the best reasons people faked being sick? It wasn't the greatest excuse for absent work for nothing, you know. However, just as the Gryffindor had rolled to his side and nuzzled his head into the squashy pillow until he was comfortable, he felt it. 

The feeling of someone watching him intensely.

Snapping open one eye as the weird tingling sensation tickled at his face, he caught a severe flash of piercing grey glaring at him.

Malfoy.

Malfoy was watching him.

Ron had completely forgotten he was in the room, and he reasoned now that that was probably a good thing; it would have totally ruined his good mood, however short it now turned out to be.

Malfoy was lying on his own bed with his curtains now partially drawn, so all Ron could see was his practically silver head on his pillow; his neck down hidden from his view by the blue bed drapes. From their pillows and similar positions, they stared at each other. Startling blue matching icy grey across the small space between them with neither hate or like and without the slightest hint of blinking. 

Ron had, by now, opened both his eyes and was wondering with suspicion what the slimy little git wanted. Probably another fight or to share his latest drawling insult. The redhead narrowed his eyes. Well, he could try it but here was no way that Ron would let Slytherin bastard make him lose his temper again. The Gryffindor had learnt (with much needless and insistent lecturing from Hermione) that the only person who would get in trouble for fighting would be him because Malfoy was already expelled and…

Shit. 

Ron suddenly stopped mid-sentence. 

Malfoy was expelled and it was _all _his fault. He had managed to get his worst enemy kicked out of Hogwarts after years of plotting and dreaming almost religiously about it. The redhead shook his head in slight amazement as he pondered it. It just sounded so surreal. He would never have to see the Slytherin again.

Malfoy was the first to blink out of the two, which was quite a surprise. Instead of a sneering remark or another jibe at his family the Slytherin, suddenly realising that he was doing it, merely snapped his eyes away and turned over, the back of his blond head facing the redhead.

Ron blinked repeatedly, absolutely convinced that his eyes were deceiving him. He looked completely confused, his mouth hanging open in his utter surprise and his blue eyes wide. What the hell was that? Had Malfoy gone mad? In reality, Ron would, by now, be lunging for Malfoy's scrawny little neck and trying not to kill him. He would be pushing him up against a wall or punching him in the gut and would be hearing that snarl ringing through his ears. But here he was… being forced not to touch him.

The Gryffindor didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. 

Someone had to initiate a fight, or at least an argument. It was usually Malfoy though… was it Ron's turn to say something cruel? Biting? Or even, heaven forbid, intelligent? Ron twisted his lips, looking even more frustrated as he pouted slightly at the back of Malfoy's head, almost willing him to turn over. This wasn't the way it should have been. Enemies did _not_ ignore each other. Where the hell was the 'Evil, cold Death Eater's son' show Malfoy performed effortlessly? This was Malfoy's cue to say something cleverly cruel and that would be Ron's to punch him in his pointed, pale face with all his might. Not doing anything while they were alone in a room together just seemed… well, wrong. Ron had to say something. It was tradition. The air around them seemed to be tingling with almost suspicious whispers. Damn, even Ron's aura knew that something was wrong. He licked his lips in some uneasiness. Now, how would he do this? He tried to smirk, though it sounded more like a nervy squeak.

"…Can't even hack a staring competition, eh Malfoy?" The Gryffindor decided afterwards how utterly lame that sounded, but it didn't seem as though Malfoy had heard. Or he was ignoring him. This only made Ron frown furiously, his face turning red. _Damn it, Malfoy! Turn around and look at me! _What the hell was his problem?Malfoy _never_ ignored him, even if everyone else did. What else were antagonists for? The redhead sat up slightly, propping his elbows against his pillow so he could look up and across at the blond with proper fury "Malfoy, are you deaf?!" he practically spat out in his confused rage. 

Still no answer. 

The Slytherin was lying very rigid now, almost as though he was impersonating a statue. Ron nearly kicked off his covers in his frustration. There was only one thing for it. 

"Draco!" 

That did it.

Malfoy turned around in slow fluidity as his penetrating and fierce eyes bore into Ron's, almost making the Gryffindor shiver.

"Don't call me Draco, Weasley." His voice was practically cut ice. Ron shook his head in even more aggravation. That was almost civil. How could he go from furious to so absolutely indifferent? The Slytherin's cold reply was like ammunition. Ron crossed his arms as he slammed his back against his headboard, his eyes narrowing fiercely.

"I'll call you whatever the heck I like," he snarled. "Though Draco is the nastiest thing I could think of." Malfoy seemed to be holding himself with extreme restraint; he didn't even smirk as he continued to lay on his pillow, his eyes glimmering with absolutely no emotion.

"Just leave me alone, Weasley. I'm not in the mood for you." This made the redhead tremble even more. How could the little git be so composed and calm when he was ready to blow his top? Oh no, Ron wasn't going to give up so easily. He was going to make Malfoy lose it so he could lose his. He even managed to smirk properly this time.

"What, afraid I'll ruin your pretty little face again, Malfoy?" he sneered. "Or that you might break a nail?" 

Malfoy's cool expression suddenly dissolved, his eyes narrowing as his mouth snarled angrily. Ron had hit a nerve and the Slytherin did not look pleased. 

"What are you? Deaf as well as stupid and poor? _Fuck off,_ Weasley, or I'll break your ugly face again."

Ron almost whooped in joy as he thanked God for making Malfoy such a vain twat. He then proceeded in jumping out of bed and lunging for him again. 

* * *

**Draco – Oh, not again…**

Damn it all. And he was doing so fucking well, too. He was acting detached and so fucking cool that he could practically taste the buzzing under Weasley's steamy hot and utterly pissed off skin. In fact, Draco's performance was so superior that he wanted to chortle and celebrate how wonderful he was. His casual movements, the stony eye contact and his lack of any emotion even though he was with Weasley… someone should have presented him a fucking award. That would show that four-eyed little shit. He could keep away from Weasley easily, despite what that stupid Potter thought…

But Weasley just had to fucking torture him, didn't he? He just couldn't leave him alone. He just had to keep yelling at him. Draco had squeezed shut his eyes and tried to mute him out, endeavouring to think of _anything_ other than the perfectly and temptingly shaggable specimen in the bed beside his. Granger naked. Potter naked. That ogre of a Gameskeeper naked… 

Damn. He was sure that one would have worked.

Draco realised how in trouble he really was when that giant and hairy savage couldn't turn him off. Desperate times indeed did call for desperate measures. _Oh, for Christ's sake. Pansy naked!_

Draco shuddered. God, that _really_ did it. He should have used that one sooner. The Slytherin tried his hardest not to throw up at the image as his mind cruelly played out a sickeningly wrong amateur striptease… 

But then he'd said it.

Weasley had called out his first name. And nothing had ever sounded so right on his tongue.

Fucking Weasley. Just thinking about his tongue drove Pansy out of Draco's mind kicking and screaming and his very frequent 'Dream Weasley' entered the scene, deciding to adopt her method and finish it off _perfectly_. Oh God… who taught him to move like that? Dear Lord… those adorable freckles really did spread _all_ over. And how on earth did the boy manage to defy gravity with that thing weighing him down…?

_For God sake, Draco. Get a grip. Turn around and stop being such a fucking pillow biter._

The Slytherin, managing to physically control himself, turned sinuously around and stared at the fuming boy blank-faced, though it was bloody _hard_ to when his little redhead was shaking so sexily, his anger flaring out of him. The blond boy tried to sound as cold as he could, and applauded himself with his success. Man, he was good at this.

"Don't call me Draco, Weasley." If truth be told, Draco didn't like the affect it had on him when he did. Of course, Weasley could never know that. His calm and very uncharacteristically civil words only instigated the fiery little Gryffindor (who was Draco calling little?) ample opportunity to answer furiously back. God, was this what Draco looked like when he was angry? How could Weasley _not_ want to jump his bones?

"I'll call you whatever the heck I like," the Gryffindor had snarled. "Though Draco is the nastiest thing I could think of."

Fuck, he'd said it again. And just when the Slytherin was calming down. How could just one word affect him so much…? Why did bloody Weasley have to say it in such a throaty, 'Come-do-me-thoroughly-and-now' voice? And it didn't help that his furious, animated anger made him look too jump-worthy for the other boy to even describe. He definitely knew one thing; Ron Weasley would be an absolute animal in bed... 

Shit. He was doing it yet _again_. 

He snarled at himself for not catching his thoughts beforehand. Why couldn't he control himself effectively, like he could everything else, when Weasley was around? The Slytherin needed to blank it out. To blank him out. He needed to be unruffled and calm. And he couldn't do that while putting 'Dream Weasley' in many interesting positions within his head. He also couldn't do that while being turned on by the real fist clenching, narrowed eyes blazing, body trembling, blisteringly hot and flaming-haired Ron Weasley in front of him.

"Just leave me alone, Weasley. I'm not in the mood for you." He glared icily, trying not to undress him with his eyes. He thanked God gratefully, though he considered himself a sceptic in all things, for making his mood-concealing genes so efficient because oh, he was such a liar. Of the many things the Slytherin would tire of, he was quite always in the mood for Ron Weasley and especially since the redhead was already on a bed… 

"What, afraid I'll ruin your pretty little face again, Malfoy?" Weasley suddenly sneered. "Or that you might break a nail?" The Gryffindor's words stunted Draco so much that even 'Dream Weasley' stopped in his tracks, looking as though he feared for his real counterpart's safety… and he should have. 

Draco switched at the words. The Weasel had hit a nerve.

There were many things Weasley could say without the Slytherin reacting, but every time he was reminded that the ginger shit had actually touched the face, the blond boy felt a blinding rush of anger. Bloody Weasley. Nobody was allowed to touch his face, not even a work of art like the redhead… which was something that Lucius Malfoy himself soon discovered as well. The front the Slytherin had been so amazingly proud of melted away into a puddle of nothing as his irritation shone through in absolute clarity. Why wouldn't Weasley fucking leave him alone? He needed to keep Potter's arrangement before Scarface decided to tell his little Gryffindor friends about his 'little secret'. And especially before he decided to tell Weasley. Couldn't the stupid redheaded git see that Draco, for once, didn't want any trouble? Couldn't he fucking tell that the Slytherin just wanted him to piss off before he either backed out of the deal (Malfoys never backed out of deals) or just raped the boy? Did he have to spell it out like he would a three year old or Goyle? He didn't like the way he made him feel, and he wanted him out of his life no matter how much he wanted to lust after/lick/play with/senselessly shag him. Couldn't the stupid fuck understand that? The Slytherin snapped.

"What are you? Deaf as well as stupid and poor? _Fuck off,_ Weasley, or I'll break your ugly face again."

He barely had time to cringe over his words. He knew he had said something brainless, he knew he had lost his temper _and_ he knew what would happen due to his stupid and sudden abandon. However, Weasley had already jumped him when he deliberated that he would soon do so. And, yes, once again the hands had clasped around his throat. 

Damn it. 

Draco, almost allowing Weasley to punish him for his own weakness, looked into the blazing, crimson, lightly freckled and stunning face as it looked viciously into his with an almost triumphant smile. Bloody Weasley. He had wound him up on purpose. How could a Weasley ever even dare to entertain that they could read a Malfoy like a book? He wasn't as fucking predictable as Longbottom. But Draco wasn't very affronted. He was actually more tired than anything else. This routine was definitely getting old now, despite Draco liking the whole concept of bare 'skin on skin' and the Gryffindor touching any part of him. However, if Weasley grabbed his throat one more time Draco was sure he would set a record somewhere. Or win a set of steak knives or something. Lifting his bored, practically drawling grey eyes to meet Weasley's fierce blue ones, the Slytherin sighed as though he didn't have a pair of hands trying to strangle him.

"Aren't you tired of this yet, Weasel?" 

The redhead blinked slightly, a bit taken aback by the blond's words. God, he loved it when Weasley got that dense, naive look about him. His hands loosened slightly from Draco's neck as he peered down at him in obvious confusion.

"What… what the fuck do you mean, Malfoy?" Draco looked him intensely in the eye for a while before he answered, thriving in the knowledge he was making the Gryffindor uncomfortable and wishing to avert his eyes. Yep, there go the blushing ears again. God, he could really nibble cheerfully on them… 

He really had to stop this. 

Draco was pretty sure that Weasley's anger had gone (the boy shifted moods faster then Draco planned elaborate murder plots) but was contented all the same that Weasley's soft hands remained touching him, now resting lightly on his icy collarbone. The Slytherin controlled himself to not arch to the warming touch as he shrugged, feeling Weasley's hands involuntarily brush gently against him as he moved his upper body.

"Well, I sneer at you. You grab my throat. It does get awfully tiring." Weasley looked even more confused as he raised his eyebrows. His mind seemed to also be seeing the wearisome pattern as he pouted slightly. 

"Well… what else are we s'pposed to do?"

_Think about the deal… Don't let his pretty blue eyes and hot arse make you forget the deal…_

"We could try and be civil to each other," Draco suggested, with still that drawling, bored tone to his voice, almost hinting that he didn't care. Draco cared, all right. "I mean, we're fucking stuck here with each other until that Pomfrey bitch lets us out. We could at least be nice."

Nice. He crinkled his nose. He hated the word 'nice'. As soon as he said it, he felt penitent. Not just because of the meaning, but it was just a vague and stupid word. But mostly because of the meaning. Ron grinned wryly, and the Slytherin berated himself for thinking how well a smile suited his features. He was seriously getting obsessive when he even liked their smile. This was _not_ good.

"Nice, Malfoy? You couldn't be nice if your life depended on it." That smile was infectious, but Draco was never very prone to disease. He merely rolled his eyes and snarled.

"Either say yes or no, Weasel. I don't have all fucking day." Ron narrowed his eyes at the tone, but he didn't get very angry. His lips twisted to a suspicious frown.

"Is this one of your little games, Malfoy?"

"What exactly do I have to gain Weasley, besides the pleasure of your company?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "I've already been bloody expelled thanks to you. I've got nowhere to go and I'd rather end my days here on an eminent note and my face in tact, thank you very sodding much. And besides, I wouldn't exactly tell you if I was planning to fucking kill you anyway, would I?" Instead of growling at Draco's sneering and malicious tone, Ron actually concurred as he shrug-nodded. 

"Nah. I s'pose not." They looked at each other, the Gryffindor's hands still resting lightly on the Slytherin's collarbone as he looked down at the resting blond. Draco wasn't sure if he liked all these niceties and wondered if he was doing the right thing or just fucking things up even more. But hey, it was worth it just to hear Weasley say his name in that orgasmic way he had. The redhead's eyes didn't soften though his voice became a fraction less suspicious. "Why the hell should I trust you, Malfoy?" 

The Slytherin shrugged casually again, scolding his heart for thumping loudly when Ron's hands again brushed against him. He steeled his face as composed as he could.

"What exactly have you got to lose?" 

Weasley's lips pursed as his forehead furrowed in contemplative thought; perfectly understandable for someone who was about to make a deal with his worst enemy. Dear Gods, he was fucking hot when he looked intellectual too… and did he have to tease the Slytherin by puckering his lips in such a fashion? If he didn't put them away soon then Draco might accidentally bite down on them… again. 

When the Gryffindor finally spoke (which snapped the other boy out of his 'Dream Weasley' sequence yet again), he did it almost reluctantly but firmly, as though he'd come up with a final plan. His own face was composed, though his eyes still blazed. 

"Promise you'll leave Harry and Hermione alone and not call them any names. _I mean it, _Malfoy." His last words were said with a threatening glare.

Draco blinked slightly, but quickly returned back to composure. He'd agreed so quickly? He thought he'd at least need to do more coaxing. A bribe… a Wizard's Oath… a blow job… But why should Draco have been surprised? He _was_ a fucking Gryffindor. He thanked God that they were so bloody trusting. And stupid.

Draco suddenly frowned. But why did everyone want him to leave their friends alone? Did they think he was a bad influence or anything? Harrumph. They should have felt privileged to be in his company. Feeling slightly offended, Draco nodded though never discarded his slight smirk.

"Malfoy's honour." Ron snorted.

"Two words that don't belong in the same sentence." Draco had to agree and, despite himself, smiled up at the object of his desire. 

"Damn fucking right, Weasel."

"Just so you know, Malfoy," Ron added, that infuriatingly sexy pout playing on his virginal lips. "I intend to kill you if you're playing some Slytherin trick."

"I'd like to see you try, Weasley," Draco smirked challengingly and, to the surprise of both, Ron actually shrugged. No punches, no sneers. Maybe no smile, but hey, it was progress. 

Then there was a silence. And a pretty awkward one at that until the Slytherin finally, with a twisted and ironic smirk as he noticed something, spoke up.

"Hey, Weasley?" The redhead blinked at the sudden address, gazing flusteringly down at the pale Slytherin and looking untrustingly suspicious all over again.

"What is it, Malfoy?" Draco bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes gleaming with impulsive and malicious hunger.

"You can stop touching me now." _Though I'd rather you not._

Ron looked down at his hands in surprise. He practically withdrew them as though they'd been scolded by Draco's icy skin when he noticed them still on the Slytherin's collarbone. He looked almost ashamed by their uncontrollable behaviour. Looking up at the Gryffindor, the content blond very interestedly noticed that his adorable face had been overtaken by the most fetching blush before he spun around and practically sprinted back to his own bed. 


	9. Strained Civility

**Ron – Playing Nice**

It was officially the first entire schoolday that Ron had missed since the incident and although the redhead felt well enough to be discharged and to return to his classes, he was more than _very_ content to laze around in the infirmary a while longer, chomping down his treats and receiving tons of sympathy. 

Yep, he thought with a dreamy smile, he _definitely_ should have been sick more often. Thinking about it, maybe he could throw himself down a flight of stairs or get Harry to hex him or something to miss his Potions Final… 

Well, Trelawney would have been happy. 

Considering that she had predicted that he'd get into a serious accident that would affect his entire life last lesson, he supposed that for once the crazy old bat was right. But then again, she also said that Harry would be trampled by a horde of psychopathic house elves, so he didn't know what to believe.

The Gryffindor had in fact spent the whole day either sleeping or reading a Muggle book that Hermione had given him about Wardrobes, Lions and Turkish Delight (whatever the hell that was). It was really quite good, despite the great efforts he had made to dislike it and grate Hermione's nerves with its negative aspects (_'A portal through a wardrobe? What was that Muggle thinking? What a stupid place to put one!'_). With a shrug as he bravely popped a handful of random Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans into his mouth, Ron guessed that he just wouldn't ever tell her. Then he shuddered as he loudly gulped down the remains of the sardine, mayonnaise and the raisin flavoured beans he'd bitten right through. 

In between his study of Ice Queens and his dreams about chasing after a buzzing silver snitch that greatly resembled Draco Malfoy's head, the Gryffindor had a not so enjoyable visit from Hermione who, red-faced, had obviously run all the way from her last lesson to dump a pile of homework as big as Professor Flitwick onto his tray, then had scarpered off before she was late for Arithmancy. Somehow, she managed to shout over her shoulder if he'd finished the book, to which he grunted something unintelligible and frowned as her fuzzy-head disappeared out the door. He'd actually finished that 'Wardrobe-Book' day she'd given it to him, quite unable to put it down but he wasn't about to tell her that! Ron Weasley wasn't supposed to like books. And plus, he hated it when Hermione got all I-told-you-so-ish. Which was all the bloody time anyway.

He 'accidentally' nudged off the pile of sheets from his tray with his elbow as he mock stretched and yawned loudly, making the rustling papers cascade noisily to the floor. Hopefully, she'd buy that he hadn't spotted them. After all, he was _so_ (cough) ill that even his eyesight was miraculously affected…

The sudden deep growl from the next bed made the redhead lose his train of thought and stop mid-yawn.

Malfoy.

"Keep it fucking down, Weasley," the familiar, though more tired and irritated, voice spat from the next bed. "Some of us are trying to sleep." Ron turned with an angry pout to see that the scowling Mr Malfoy was trying to pull his sheets over his head in annoyance. Ron fumed and his lips had actually formed into a full frown before he realised that he was actually supposed to be nice to Malfoy. 

God, 'Nice to Malfoy'… why on earth did he agree to that? 

Why didn't he just suss it as a Malfoy trick and throw a punch at him for being the devious little shit he was? And how the hell could he be nice to a boy who he'd spent most of his life referring to as 'git' and automatically made a face at when he walked into a room? Bugger. This sure was going to take some getting use to. Ron grinded his teeth to stop an expletive from escaping him as soon as he heard Malfoy's voice. 

"It's Two o'clock, Malfoy." 

It took all his self-control not spit the words out. Weasleys may have been poor, but they were loyal, reliable and always kept their word, and Ron was an absolutely perfect example of this. He would be 'nice' if it bloody killed him… and he wouldn't be surprised if it did. He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly as the Slytherin's silver head finally popped out of the covers. A pale, pointed face distorted in pure annoyance and a perfected snarl appeared as Malfoy pulled the sheet viciously off his head, his usually neat blond hair spiky and static. His drooping bruised grey eyes soon narrowed at Ron angrily, almost accusingly. Wow, the little git (shit, he meant something 'nicer') _really_ didn't seem to be a morning person.

"And your point is?" the Slytherin growled. They stared silently at each other for a while. For some suddenly insane and unknown reason, Ron felt like laughing. Malfoy just looked so ridiculous, practically being swallowed by his giant duvet and sheets, his pale hair in all directions, his chin raised defiantly, his once split bottom lip puckered angrily and his arms now crossed viciously across his chest. The git (damn, not again) looked so childish and like the totally spoilt little brat he was that Ron wanted to guffaw outright in his face. But that probably wasn't the most sensible thing he could have done. Yes, the Gryffindor _could_ be sensible when he felt like it, which he supposed must have been because of Hermione's influence. Uh-oh. He would be highlighting his timetable and drawing Professor Lockhart's name in little hearts before long… 

Instead of being pissed off at the seething Malfoy reaction (like he pretty much usually was), Ron merely smirked at his former enemy's appearance, knowing that would affect him more than his anger ever could. In fact, the Gryffindor was beginning to wonder if Malfoy actually _liked_ winding him up…

"You look like shit, Malfoy." 

The Slytherin scowled even further, a deep growl escaping his lips. Ron beamed with smugness. He'd found his weak spot. God, the evil little prick really was a vain twat. Well, he guessed that Malfoy did have good reason to be. The blond boy propped himself up so he was sitting up and staring at the redhead with proper dislike.

"Yeah, now I'm about as pretty as you, Weasley," he snarled. Hmmmm… Pretty. That was a bloody good way to describe Malfoy. It made Ron want to snigger. Damn, if Malfoy didn't watch out he'd be wearing make up next. And swapping hair advice with Parvati and Lavender…

"How's your face anyway?" Ron asked civilly with a smirk, ignoring Malfoy's last words. He _would _be 'nice'. He _would_ feel nothing but 'niceness' towards Malfoy. He _would not_ grab his book and wallop it across his head… He would be cool and laugh it all off…

The Slytherin shrugged, still looking somewhat peeved. Ron supposed that he had woken up enough to remind himself of the deal.

"I'll live." Damn it.

"Oh, that's a shame," Ron said with genuine repentance. "I hope it hurts like a bitch." It was Malfoy's turn to smirk, and Ron wanted to kick himself for losing the little power he had. This could only end in him punching Malfoy. That look did it to him every time.

"How about you? That ugly mug of yours improved much?" Ron was slightly taken aback. Rude but civil. He unclenched his teeth, mouth opening in slight surprise. He was actually clenching them in the first place to stop himself when Malfoy said something mean. He blinked, still in some shock, then slowly dissolved into a derisive expression and a snort.

"Do you even give a shit?" The Slytherin shrugged casually as he dropped his eyes to study his perfect nails.

"No." 

The redhead didn't know what it was, but it something about the way Malfoy had said that. Not even a slight on his family could have matched it. The teeth clenched again. He could feel a burning under his skin rising up from his neck as he scowled. The Gryffindor was suddenly, in a word, pissed off. The Slytherin _should_ have 'given a shit'. He _should_ have been praying that Ron was in severe pain. He _should_ have cared with sadistic feeling that Ron was in agony. How could two of the most emotional and bad-tempered people in Hogwarts not react to each other when in a room together? How could the bastard just sit there so coolly, acting as though there had been nothing between them? They had had the whole fanatical, violent enemy thing going on for four years. _Four _years. And now, suddenly, they were just casual and indifferent acquaintances. It was seriously screwed up. Malfoys and Weasleys had an animosity, a reaction, between them from the beginning of time. It was practically something in their blood. You couldn't just give that up with a deal. 

Why the hell had he agreed to it? 

Damn and bugger it. 

He never wanted anything more in his whole life than to punch Malfoy at that moment in time. 

And due to his stupidity, he bloody couldn't. God damn it!

"Do you know why people don't like you, Malfoy?" 

It was Malfoy's turn to blink in slight surprise at the abrupt question as he looked up with slightly wide eyes. A very un-Malfoy look. However, in a split second he had managed to relax into an attractive smirk as he leaned fluidly against his unfluffed pillow. Shit, he was definitely back to his usual control. And Ron was slowly losing his.

"Like I give a shit, Weasley." 

"It's because you're a prick." The answer only made Malfoy's smirk broaden, making Ron's fists tremble furiously under his sheets. Oh yes, he was losing it.

"And here was I thinking that you'd say something intelligent, Weasley," Malfoy smiled maliciously, looking so composed it was sickening. "But then again, I do have an incredibly wild imagination."  

"Malfoy…" Ron warned, his teeth clenched and his hiss dangerously threatening. Just one more word and the Gryffindor would discard the deal and kill him…

Malfoy smiled.

"Yes, Weasley?" He batted his long eyelashes, a glint of wickedness in his eye as he mocked innocence. "Can I help you with something?"

* * *

**Draco – I'm back**

Yes! Yes! Yes!

He was a God.****

One minute Weasley had the upper hand. He had that fucking sexy smirk on his face and the body language that screamed casual good-nature, making Draco want to both hit him and shag him until he begged for him to stop… but then Weasley panicked. The Slytherin could see his cute and irrational redheaded mind grasping wildly for help as realisation of his defeat kicked in. His eyes looked wide, worried, like a muggle rabbit trapped by the headlights of an advancing car.

And that was when he felt it. The tingling. As though ice-cold water had been released in waves under his skin and that cool head rush, making every thought as clear as day. Even if someone tried the Avada Kedavra curse on him, he could merely smirk it off. He was cool, calm, indifferent and ruthless. Just the way he had always been before Lucius and Weasley had infected his mind. 

Well, it was about fucking time he was back…!

He turned to the fiery redhead, his cruel smile broadening at Weasley's livid expression and at the realisation that he could control his lust for the boy. He was now so easy to resist.

 "And here was I thinking that you'd say something intelligent, Weasley." Draco grinned in soft malevolence, his body language calm and composed. "But then again, I do have an incredibly wild imagination."  

He wanted to chortle at the fuming look on Weasley's bright red features but he easily produced a look of calm unconcern. Oh, he was fucking good. While the Gryffindor couldn't help spilling his emotions all over his attractively freckled face, Draco could veil his skilfully. Oh yes, he had the power. He didn't even have to fucking swear.

Ok, so he wasn't sticking by his own deal by playing nice… but he was a Malfoy. When were they ever trustworthy? Or nice? Besides, just seeing Weasley pissed off was worth it. And he was _really _pissed off. The Slytherin controlled the bubble of delighted lust from overtaking his lower body as Weasley held his shaking self with all his strength to the bed.

"Malfoy…" he hissed through gritted teeth, almost viciously pleading for him to stop. Stop? Why would he stop when he was just getting started? He was the Lord of all creation. 

"Yes, Weasley?" Draco purred, batting his eyelashes innocently through a blatant smirk. Man, he could even flirt without getting pissed off with himself for doing so. "Can I help you with something?" 

"You're… not… sticking… by… the… rules…" Weasley was still hissing through permanently clenched teeth. The Slytherin could see his trembling fists under his sheets. For a fleeting second he wondered what else could be trembling under those sheets… 

No.

He would not lose this sudden composure due to some idiotic crush on Weasley. The stupid Gryffindor wasn't worth it. Instead, Draco raised a malicious brow and curved his lips into a mocking smile.

"How quaint, Weasley. You actually believed me. I always thought you were dense, but now I realise that you're as stupid as you are poor."

He knew he'd pushed the right button. He grinned. The redhead was so fucking predictable that it was sexy. Wait a second, he found everything the Gryffindor git did sexy… 

Oh well. 

Sitting back, he waited patiently for the redhead to react, and he didn't need to wait very long at all. Weasley jumped out of bed (nice flash of leg) and pounced. 

But he had never pounced like this before. 

Oh shit.

Draco's smirk completely disappeared, his heart skipping a beat and his face paling even more. For once, the Slytherin was utterly frozen to the spot, unsure how to move or to even breathe. A thousand thoughts ran through his head, a cold sweat washed over him and not even his cool composure could have prepared him for this. 

Weasley was _straddling _him. 

He was sitting on the Slytherin's abdomen, one warm bare leg on either side of him and his scorching hands, which had clasped around the blond's collar, had pulled Draco up to his face; the Gryffindor's hot, angry breath on the blond's lips in rough pants. Two pairs of blue eyes met, the tips of two noses touched and two heartbeats beat frantically against one another… But those weren't the only Weasley organs he could feel rubbing tantalisingly against him.

Oh fucking God. 

He should have said something. 'Get the heck off me, Weasel' or 'Get your Mudblood contaminated hands off me' but there were only three things on his mind; Sex, Weasley and Right Fucking Now. With his deep growl, his burning red skin, his taut, strong body pressed tightly against his… And it didn't fucking help that he could actually feel _exactly_ how turned on the Weasel was…

Wait a fucking minute. Weasley was _turned on?_

Draco's expression changed from surprise to lustful astonishment when he saw that the anger on redhead's face had disappeared. He was now deathly pale under his freckles and was looking straight into his nemesis's eyes with something more akin to fear. He was still breathing deeply, his body heaving against the Slytherin's as he tried to get his nerve back. Draco could practically taste the sweet puffs of air as he could with the musky aroma emanating from the Gryffindor's piping skin. Oh God. Weasley was all around him. Weasley was turned on. And all Draco needed to do was flip him over.

His cool composure went as soon as it came. All he felt now was the warmness of the redheaded blanket on top of his cold self and an almost grinding sensation against his pelvis. He bit back a moan. Oh Jesus. This could not be fucking happening. 

Weasley's hands slowly loosened around his collar, his blue eyes still wide with innocent fear as they naively slid down the Slytherin's chest, unintentionally causing the blond boy to shudder slightly with the pleasurable alien touch…

Wait a fucking minute. He wasn't just going to take this like a Nancy Boy. If anyone were going to do the touching, it would be him. Not a mother-fucking Gryffindor. And who did Weasley think he was? Did he honestly think he could get out of this situation now that he had started it? Well, the ginger prick had another thing coming. And the pun was fucking intended.

Giving the redhead a brilliant, though somewhat nervous (he'd berate himself later), smirk, Draco slipped his shaking, ice-like hands up the steaming thighs that were clamping him down. Despite the sudden temperature change, Weasley didn't shiver. The boy hardly fucking moved. His hands were against the Slytherin's chest but he didn't push him away. He only looked at the Slytherin with an almost dead looking complexion, gulping in adorable nervousness and his breathing hitching with every millimetre the blond's freezing fingers slid upwards and underneath his short robes. Draco leaned even more forward so their forehead's were resting against each other, making Weasley's already unsteady breathing catch even more.

"Want me to go higher, Weasley?" he smirked seductively. Weasley's trembling lips opened a fraction but what he was going to say, the Slytherin never found out.

"Malfoy! Weasley!"

Oh fuck it. And he was just about to get in his pants. Bloody McGonagall. She was on the list higher than Potter now. He growled as he turned menacingly to the sight of the Transfiguration teacher standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips and looking even sterner than should have been legal. Bloody Gryffindor cow. He'd get her. Oh yes, she was going to be in a huge amount of pain when he was done...

She let out a puff of angry air, almost shaking with her fury.

 "Never in all my years have I seen such rivalry between two students! Fighting, even in the infirmary!" Draco blinked. Fighting? She thought they were fighting? He couldn't help but smirk at his luck as Weasley, red-faced and utterly mortified, staggered clumsily off the Slytherin, avoiding both their gazes as he stood beside the bed, holding the bedside table to keep his balance as he looked down at his large feet. Draco knew what large feet usually implied and couldn't wait till he got another shot at his fiery little (well, he hoped _big_) redhead. Darting his gaze to Weasley's face, Draco noticed that he looked as though his whole world had come to an end. Jesus, the sexy bastard looked like he was going to either faint, puke or cry. Or all at once. McGonagall puffed out her chest to illustrate her anger as she continued briskly, still looking outraged. The Slytherin snorted. "I have, moreover, come to request the pleasure of your company. Both of you." She said the last very harshly. Draco couldn't stop himself from sneering viciously at her. 

"Oh really, and why would that be? Want us to dance for you?" She narrowed her eyes dangerously. Nobody ever talked like that to her, and the Slytherin knew it. Instead of yelling or taking points off him, she merely fashioned a tight-lipped look of contempt.

"I would try to acquire some manners in the next few minutes if I were in your position, Mr Malfoy." Her eyes blazed behind her spectacles as she paused, holding herself stiffly. "The Governors have arrived."


	10. The Governors

**Ron – The Creak of the Closet Door**

Ron was trembling and trying not to look as mortified as he felt. Even as he sat down on the other side of the desk, where Professor Dumbledore and the line of governors were seated authoritatively, he was unwilling to catch a single eye or raise his ashen, nauseous-looking face in civil greeting. However, being Ron Weasley, he glanced up and accidentally caught the eye of the only witch seated as he unconsciously grimaced at the impressive row of twelve expensively-clad wizards. Pushing her blonde locks from her eye and tucking them behind her porcelain-like ear, she beamed attractively at him. Ron managed a weak, though pained half-smile. She would have been the one. She was the kind of woman he'd typically blush furiously to the tips of his ears at and avert his lovesick eyes clumsily from as Hermione muttered 'Boys' under her breath. Ordinarily, she would have been his Fleur Delacour for this year. He would be staring at her with wide eyes and an open mouth, nudging Harry in the ribs to indicate to her and then would foolishly jump to impress her with outrageous claims involving a Muggle helicopter.

_But now…_

The door slammed open. Malfoy suddenly entered Dumbledore's office very dramatically, his Slytherin green robes billowing behind him as strutted self-assuredly towards them, then slid lithely into the seat beside the Gryffindor, unfazed by every eye in the room scrutinising his every move. In fact, the stupid bastard seemed to be enjoying it. He'd changed his clothes, Ron mused with an angry glare. He wasn't surprised. Vain little twat that he was. Their gazes locked for a second when Malfoy, in passing, inspected his perfect nails. 

The perfect nails and the ice-cold fingertips that had very recently been inching up the Gryffindor's robes… 

Ron snapped his eyes away from the glinting, stormy pupils furiously before the Slytherin shit could give him a customary smirk. 

That stupid ferrety git, ruddy loving what he was doing to him. Playing another bloody evil Malfoy trick to embarrass Ron in front of the whole school… well, he wasn't going to let him. He wasn't going to fall for it. He wasn't going to fall for him. No damn way.

Malfoy looked as impeccable, cold and as self-satisfied as ever as he turned to Dumbledore's elongated desk and the thirteen towering persons sitting behind it. Ron could practically taste the Slytherin's cold, radiating smirk.

He dropped his own gaze to his lap, incensed inside as his hands trembled.

_…That pasty-faced git had to go and ruin everything._

"Are we all present, Dumbledore?" a chipper voice suddenly inquired. "Anyone else to wait for…?" 

The tall, podgy man with an exceptionally round and rosy face, who sat in the middle of the table beside Dumbledore, asked good-naturedly. He had a happy gleam in his violet eyes, almost as though he were a five-year old asking his mother if she could buy him that cool broomstick everyone else had. He even seemed to be bouncing somewhat on his seat in anticipation as he dabbed at his slightly sweaty upper lip hurriedly with a handkerchief. Dumbledore was trying not to smile. Malfoy was eying the bouncing Governor with a look of disdain and haughty disgust. And Ron was trying not to punch Malfoy right there and then. He just didn't want to think about what would happen if he touched the Slytherin bastard again…

"All present and accounted for, Mr Dandypus," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "I believe now would be a suitable time to begin." 

The greasy gentleman nodded eagerly and turned to Malfoy, practically clapping his hands and chortling with glee. As the Slytherin tried his hardest to kill Mr Dandypus with a piercing glare, the merry and lively Governor merely failed miserably to repress a broad grin, his plump cheeks glowing bright pink. If Ron weren't feeling so sorry for (and pissed off with) himself, he would have sniggered.

Mr Dandypus suddenly smiled an energetic yet paternal smile at Malfoy, flashing his oddly shaped teeth and fidgeting like an overactive child in his seat. The wizard to the left of Dandypus, who greatly reminded Ron of the late Barty Crouch Senior, rolled his eyes sardonically and dragged the file in front of the bubbly fellow towards him. The stern gentleman flicked shrewdly through it with his bony fingers and made grunting noises through his nose as he skimmed down the pages with his perceptive eyes. The other governors talked among themselves, talking in hushed whispers and trying to look as though they were speaking about deathly important matters, though Ron was sure he heard one of them mutter 'I could really murder a Hippogriff Sarnie right about now…' 

Trying to tear his already scarred mind from the idle chit-chat when all he really wanted to do was run to the nearest bathroom and puke out that horrible feeling in his gut and Malfoy's touch from his memory, Ron turned to Dandypus, hoping that the guy would finish this anytime soon. The Gryffindor had already guessed that the bloke was a bit of a nut, but seeing Dandypus look at Malfoy with affection made him think that he was a danger to society, too. Bloody Malfoy. Bloody sexually manipulative little…

"Ahhh, Draco my boy…!" the rosy-faced man began jovially with a hearty smile. Malfoy just scowled. "You really have grown into a very fine looking lad. Why, you look more like your father everyday! I saw him just yesterday…" Here his fidgeting stopped slightly and Malfoy's face went stone cold. Warily, Ron looked up at the little shit, controlling his trembling fists from throttling him as a look of confused interest crossed his own features. Hey. The git _was _actually scared of somebody. The redhead never thought the day would come when he wanted to thank Lucius Malfoy… Nah, he'd still rather see his father punch the twisted git in the face again. And then he could have Draco. Dandypus continued, still squirming about in his chair as his grin dimmed slightly. "Lucius is quite anxious to see you again, Draco." The Gryffindor didn't miss the almost frantic look between the Headmaster and Malfoy. It made him scowl and purse his already pouting lips. Were they best buddies now or something? After what that prick did to him? That day and this morning, too? How was that bloody fair? 

"Did you tell him of the appeal, Humperdink?" Dumbledore had that severe tone and that frown on his face; a frown that reminded Ron why he was noted as one of the most powerful wizards in modern times. You just didn't mess with him. It seemed that Dandypus saw it too because he started to laugh rather awkwardly, sweating even more. The hankie seemed to be working overtime.

"Well, Dumbledore! Honestly! Lucius will have to know his son is returning home…! He _is_ the boy's father, after all…"

"And his son wants nothing to do with him," Dumbledore said with patient coldness, positively glowing in his authority. "And we are both knowledgeable of the fact that young Mr Malfoy here is old enough to live away from his parents; which, I assure you, he plans to do."

Awkward silence.

"So am I expelled, or what?" Malfoy suddenly asked, causing that discussion to stop and the eyes of both men, sweaty and powerful alike, to tear from their gaze and to turn to his ice-like disposition. Dandypus smiled uncomfortably, squirming again in his seat under Malfoy's intense glare and looking at his other fellow Governors for support. They stared silently back at him with stern, expectant looks. Ron snorted. Of course the git wasn't expelled. The greasy bloke was a family friend and probably a damn Death Eater, too. Bloody unfair, it was.

Shifting in his seat again (Ron being convinced the man needed to go to the toilet), Mr Dandypus finally began.

"Well… er… yes. Erm… well, after days of discussion…er, and referring back to the School Handbook… and also going over the facts, though Dumbledore assures me that, unfortunately, no eye witnesses were present… we twelve governors have regrettably concluded that… there, well…" He paused here to cough, averting his eyes from Malfoy's. "That there is no other choice."

The Slytherin's mouth didn't drop open in surprise. His grey eyes didn't widen in horror and he didn't tremble on the spot, growing pale and looking sick. Malfoy didn't look the least surprised. He just shrugged nonchalantly, looking ready to pack at that very instant.

Ron, on the other hand, was flabbergasted. His mouth _did _drop open, his blue eyes wide with absolute disbelief as he looked back and forth from Mr Dandypus to Malfoy, practically shaking his red head in incredulity. Dandypus was still avoiding the young Slytherin's severe eye and wiping the perspiration from his dripping red forehead with his trusty handkerchief, trying to smile nervously yet again.

"Well… yes. Such terrible news. I'm afraid it's quite unavoidable, considering the circumstances..." His expression completely contradicted his words; he actually looked more relieved than anything else as he carried on. "Nevertheless, the… the rules of the school stipulate that Draco may stay here for an additional month…which is, of course, quite ample time to inform family and…"

"_Humperdink…"_

It was amazing how Dumbledore could make one word sound more like a death threat than a warning. But the currently baffled redheaded Gryffindor wasn't really paying attention to this. He wasn't paying attention to anything. His brain had just shut down, leaving him incoherent, with both his eyes and mouth wide open and left watching everything around him in dreary slow motion. His head was beginning to hurt again as his open mouth went dry and that pit in his stomach was beginning to cause acute pain. He winced and gulped painfully.

There was no bloody way. Malfoy couldn't, he just_ couldn't,_ be expelled. It wasn't true. It… it just wasn't right. His evil bastard of a father could get him out of this easy. Yeah, that's what would happen. No matter what the Slytherin did, he could always weasel his way out of it. Nobody could get the best of a Malfoy, _especially_ a Weasley… So what the heck was going on? 

However, it didn't seem as though anyone would answer Ron's query as Dumbledore continued composedly, his blazing, overpowering eyes still glaring intensely at the Governor as the rest of his face seemed so very collected.

"Draco wishes to leave the premises as soon as possible," he stated simply, turning his eyes (to Dandypus's immense relief) to the Slytherin instead. The headmaster had an odd little, almost fond, smile on his face as he spoke to the blond boy. "Is that not so, Mr Malfoy?" Ron, still wearing a weak look of total perplexity that not even an amnesiac could match, nearly did a double take when Malfoy returned the knowing smirk.

"The sooner I get out of this shithole, the better."

There were a couple of gasps, but nobody commented on the language. In fact, Dumbledore seemed to be trying not to chuckle as his face lit up. Mr Dandypus, whose own face turned even redder at Malfoy's words, reclaimed his file and extracted a form from it, turning it with his shaking chubby fingers and pushing it in front of the Slytherin. 

"Well, yes… here is a, well, (cough) a magical contract, Mr Malfoy…" Even his voice was shaking. Malfoy looked up at him with a wicked gleam through his narrowed eyes and a devious smirk played on his lips. The vindictive little bastard was enjoying watching Dandypus squirm, the way he did with everyone. It was a wonder that the practically soaking Governor could continue and manage to hand Malfoy a quill. "It… it will remove your name from all… er, all the school files, it um, legally…. legally annuls Hogwarts's responsibility over you… er… it cancels your author… authorisation onto the school grounds… and also… also your student rights…" Malfoy twirled the quill and examined it thoroughly with a flick of his wrist as Dandypus licked his sweaty lips with an unbelievably desperate expression. The man couldn't have pled more if he were down on his knees. 

Ron, who was pale-faced and grasping the wooden arm of his chair, was pretty convinced he was going to vomit any time soon as his spinning mind, which was still functioning peculiarly, only caught the odd word among the swirling haze.

_Legally… Hogwarts…Cancels… Student…_

Malfoy was being cancelled. 

He would never see the blond little shit ever again.

He shook his already aching head in feeble denial. 

This just couldn't be the way things ended. It was just… shit, it was just _wrong_. There was no ruddy way this could have been happening. The git's reign of terror was one of the few things a person could depend on. Who the hell was going to pick on Ron all the time now? Malfoy couldn't simply go, never to return. After four years of pure torment, he couldn't just up and leave. He couldn't. He just couldn't.

Ron wouldn't bloody let him. 

Despite biting his bottom lip to stop his tactless self, gazing with wide imploring eyes at each of the Governors and rocking slightly in his chair, the redhead's incoherence and his headache both suddenly dissipated. His mind cleared significantly as the first thing he could utter blurted and spluttered out of his pleading and desperate mouth without thought.

"But… but I don't want him expelled…!"

* * *

**Draco – The Decision**

"Well… er… yes. Erm… well, after days of discussion…er, and referring back to the School Handbook… and also going over the facts, though Dumbledore assures me that, unfortunately, no eye witnesses were present… we twelve governors have regrettably concluded that… there, well… that there is no other choice."

Draco had expected it. He wasn't distraught or vaguely upset. As soon as Dandypus walked into the room he knew what the verdict would be. And he knew that Dandypus was the reason why the Governors had arrived so early in the first place.

That fucking greasy, fat-arsed bastard.

Draco knew it would be him to seal his doom. That snivelling, pathetic, bloody leeching excuse for a human being. He was practically a house-elf under Lucius's complete and total control. The only Death Eater who blubbered like an obese, toupee-wearing baby when they burned the Dark Mark into his arm.

Draco glared at him in purest abhorrence and repulsion.

That fucker.

He could barely stand to look at the man, sweating like a pig and refusing to catch his eye. Trying to smile brightly and bounce chirpily though the fear in his eyes was apparent and great… 

Well, he had better be scared.

The Slytherin could already guess the deal. Dandypus had to get him home as soon as possible… and expulsion from school was easily the best excuse to begin a new and fresh education in Death Devouring. The Head of the Board of Governors was going to hand a 16-year-old boy over to the darkest Wizards ever born. The blond snorted contemptuously. The fat fuck would have to wait until Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort played Barbies together before he would willingly go back home again. He watched in detestation as Dandypus wiped his forehead for the umpteenth time. 

"Well… yes. Such terrible news. I'm afraid it's quite unavoidable, considering the circumstances..." 

Draco glared as viciously as he could, which, in his vast experience, could have actually caused serious injury. The clammy bastard was relieved. The Slytherin could see it in his eyes. Did the disgustingly vile hunk of meat honestly think that Lucius would turn around, pat him on the head and blow him for a job well done? He was practically smiling with delight. Humph. The stupid fuck probably didn't even know what he'd got himself into. He didn't even realise that he was now playing with the big boys. Draco sneered. He'd be dead within a week. 

"Nevertheless," Dandypus somehow managed to continue shakily as Draco's glare intensified. "The… the rules of the school stipulate that Draco may stay here for an additional month…which is, of course, quite ample time to inform family and…"

"_Humperdink…" _

Draco glanced at Dumbledore with a look that could only imply near gratitude, though the Slytherin did scowl through the expression. The Headmaster had saved him from warning the prat himself… and also from causing him grievous bodily harm. However, even Draco had to shiver somewhat at the look of pure warning on Dumbledore's face… though the Slytherin soon snapped out of it and returned back to his job of successfully freaking the Governor out with his Lucius-like sneer. "Draco wishes to leave the premises as soon as possible." 

It was then that Dumbledore did something that the Slytherin didn't expect. In fact, it caused the relatively cool Draco Malfoy to blink almost as confusedly as Weasley. He gave the blond boy a playful 'we-know-something-they-don't-know' look, which obviously was referring to their deal. Draco's narrowed grey eyes widened. Dumbledore was actually being sneaky and his eyes were glowing with mischievous, silent laughter. The Slytherin wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. But he preferred to sneer. "Is that not so, Mr Malfoy?" In spite of himself, Draco crossed his arms and smirked nearly completely good-naturedly. He loved knowing something while others were in ignorance. Perhaps it was just his cruel and devious nature.

"The sooner I get out of this shithole, the better." His smile widened even more as Dandypus went redder. The flushed and overweight sack of shit looked like he would soon run out of liquid and his sweat glands would begin to pump out blood.

"Well, yes… here is a, well…" He gave a dry, nervous cough. "…A magical contract, Mr Malfoy…" 

Draco raised his eyes to look at the Governor as the sweaty creature took out a form with shaky hands; his moist fingerprints staining the edge of the paper. Draco made a face. Who exactly did he think he was, _nearly _cutting off a Malfoy mid-sentence and then daring to sweat filthily on _anything_ he presented him with? Draco should have reported him to his father for being an insolent little prick. Oh yes, then he'd really be in trouble. Delicious trouble. He would be the Archery Target at the Death Eater's social club or lying on a silver platter with an apple in his mouth and being served straight to Lord Voldemort himself… Draco looked up at him with a wicked gleam through his narrowed eyes and a scheming smirk played on his lips. Oh yes, he was really affecting the overgrown buffoon. The man could hardly get his words out under the severe scrutiny, trying not to catch those Malfoy grey eyes. "It… it will remove your name from all… er, all the school files, it um, legally…. legally annuls Hogwarts's responsibility over you… er… it cancels your author… authorisation onto the school grounds… and also… also your student rights…"

It wouldn't stop him from hiding out in the Shack of Shitloads of Shrieking though, would it?

Draco stopped examining the damp quill Dandypus had presented him with and looked subtly up at Dumbledore, raising a slender blond eyebrow in slight questioning that implied, 'Should I fucking sign it or not?'. Apparently, he 'fucking' should, since the Headmaster nodded his wise head in affirmation. 

Draco leaned over with poise and touched the tip of the quill onto the magical golden dotted line.

Never in all his years as a Malfoy had he blotted on a piece of paper. Since an early age, the young Draco Malfoy was taught the skill of penmanship and grace. Back in his youth, he'd known of many a stupid child disgustingly disregarding the lines in colouring books by drawing brainlessly all over them. And he was very proud to own that he was never one of them. However, never in all those years did he have Weasley scream out simultaneously,

"But… but I don't want him expelled…!"

Ah, fuck it. 

The paper now looked as though the Giant Squid had urinated on it or something. Lord Bugger it. He'd made a mess. Now he was going to have to fucking… Whoa. Hold it one Death Eating second. Did Weasley want him to stay? Draco raised his predatory grey eyes in astonishment, his usually composed and smirking mouth wide open. 

Well, that was unexpected. 

And it seemed that the Slytherin wasn't the only person who looked completely taken aback. Dandypus spluttered a whole lot of nothing, the other Governors burst into murmurs of 'What the…!?' and the usually all-knowing Dumbledore raised a brow and blinked slightly behind his half-moon spectacles. As soon as he said it and when every eye had turned to him questioningly, Weasley blushed so deeply it rivalled his hair and looked embarrassingly sheepish and uncomfortable under the attention. In short, he was being the practically illegally cute and adorably sexy motherfucker that he was. God, the boy was so close that Draco found that his embarrassment was practically tangible. He was also close enough to… 

Dumbledore, not taking long to revert back to his calm and logical self, was the first person to speak. He couldn't hide his twinkle of confused amusement though.

"Mr Weasley, the choice isn't yours…" But it seemed Weasley was on a roll. The stunning little morsel couldn't even control his feelings if he had them all on a leash. He shook that sexy, bright head of his emphatically as his blue eyes widened in imploration.

"But… but I provoked him! Honest. I said some really nasty things and-" 

"Nothing allows a student to sink to violence," the stiffest looking Governor retorted, looking quite disgusted with the both of them. He gave Draco a look that made the blond hiss out loud. "_He_ could have killed you, Mr Weasley." Dandypus wasn't coherent enough to comment. The fat blob like bastard looked as though he was going to pass out.

"But he didn't! And I... err…" Weasley licked his lips in nervous desperation. Draco carefully inspected the flash of tongue he caught just a glimpse of. Mmmmmmm… "I… I don't want all this trouble."

Dumbledore's face was now stone serious. 

"I'm afraid this is too serious a matter to ignore." Weasley was about to open his mouth again but Dumbledore gave him a hard look that halted his words before he could think of them, resulting in only an endearing, meowing whimper escaping him. With a resigned look, Weasley sunk back into his chair in defeat. "I think we can safely pronounce this matter settled."

Dumbledore finished with a serene clasp of his hands on the desk in front of him. Dandypus started to breathe again as he pushed back his chair and stood on his chubby feet. The other Governors, deciding from their Head's movement and Dumbledore's words that the meeting was adjourned, quietly packed up their things, taking Draco's excuse for a signature with them. They each walked out grandly, pausing twice to give Ron a look, then Draco a sterner one. Fucking Governors. Daring to look down at a Malfoy. He couldn't wait till the Dark Lord got them. Every single one of them. Then they'd be sorry and plead pitifully for forgiveness and…

Oh shit.

He wasn't supposed to think that. He was on the _good_ side. _Good_ side. Bugger. It sounded so much cooler to say you were buddies with the Darkest Wizard ever born. 

When they had all exited, Draco noted through slit, raised eyes that Dandypus had moved and was hopping from one foot to the other by the side of the pale boy's chair, looking down at the Slytherin with a pained smile. Draco lifted his nose up in revulsion. What did the fat fool want now?

"Well, …good… good luck, Draco, my boy." Dandypus smiled a nervous, animated grin that he supposed probably looked affectionate. Draco saw his sweaty hand twitching to rest on Draco's shoulder but the Slytherin presented him with a look that told him that any limb he dared to place on him wouldn't come back whole. Dandypus lowered his arm to his side as the blond narrowed his stormy eyes even further.

"I'm not your boy," he sneered, causing the Governor to drop the happy façade. "And you better keep your fucking luck for yourself. You'll need it when you have to tell Lucius that I'm not fucking going back." Draco paused for a moment to bask drinking in Lucius' pet's fear, then gave him a soft smile, full of malice. "By the way, give my best to Voldemort." Dandypus had initially frozen completely, then he shook on the spot, his fat quivering with him. With a movement so sharp that Draco was surprised that a lump like him could manage it, Dandypus stormed off, slamming the door behind him so hard that it bounced open again. Dumbledore, looking so amused he nearly grinned, sidled to the door, tutting under his breath in a pleased manner as he pulled it properly open, proceeding then to sigh deeply.

"Some wizards truly do not appreciate the beauty of woodwork."

Draco snorted, but then stopped looking at the headmaster when he felt that oddly familiar tingling on his face. He could feel the intensity of someone looking at him. He snapped his head around to see Weasley, who in a moment too late, blush then lower his discomfited head down to his lap again. The Slytherin smiled. He really was too sexy for his own good.

So… what were they supposed to do now? Twiddle their fucking thumbs? Wasn't Dumbledore supposed to order Weasley to go back to the infirmary or something? Stupid old git. He was just standing by the door, humming to himself. 

The silent tension in the room and the moroseness of the situation (doubly amplified as Dumbledore let out a few obvious coughs) told the naturally mischievous Draco to stir up the situation. And of course, with someone as gorgeous as fuck as Weasley about, he didn't have to be coerced too much. Forcing a smirk, he turned to the redheaded Gryffindor, trying not to lick at his tempting little ear as Weasley looked down at his own lightly freckled hands with an almost ill expression. 

"Wanting me to stay, Weasley? I didn't know you cared." The Gryffindor raised his head up slowly to catch his eye.

Damn that fucker. 

How could he have such an affect on the Slytherin without even touching him? How could he make certain things, external and internal, stir without even a single word? That bastard. Draco hated not having control. With irritation, the blond boy had to force himself to breathe but it was becoming a lost cause. The innocent, wide-eyed and lost look Weasley gave him told him that the redhead cared all right although he shakily said with not much conviction;

"Piss… piss off, Malfoy…"  

Draco didn't even sneer. They stared expressionlessly at each other for a moment until the sickly pale Gryffindor pushed his chair back noisily then hurried passed an observing and extremely interested Dumbledore and out the room. 

The Slytherin noticed many things as his eyes carefully devoured every detail of the redhead's retreating back. He noticed the broad, strong shoulders of the once gangly and awkward kid, the absolutely perfectly shaped arse that would have been ideal to grope and sink your teeth into but most importantly, he noticed Weasley's lowered freckled face slowly flushing as he hastily exited the office. Such a shame that it would be the last time he'd ever see it. 

Or so Draco Malfoy thought…


	11. Nighttime Musings

**Ron – Is There Something I Don't Know…?**

Ron Weasley was back where he should have been. 

Here he was, sitting on the windowsill of his dorm and looking out the open window at the spectacular view of the Hogwarts grounds underneath the star-sprinkled and cloaked skies. Leaning his head back against the frame, the Gryffindor listened raptly to the soft and almost hypnotising call of the wind and the oddly calming muffled noises coming from the Forbidden Forest. Even though he shuddered when he remembered what _exactly_ lived in those woods (don't think of spiders… don't think of spiders…) the redhead had to admit that it was pretty nice to be back. Nice to be here with his friends and to have all his proper things back. Nice to not have Madam Pomfrey force-feeding him every two seconds. And nice not to have the pointy-faced git as his only company. 

The meeting yesterday afternoon would be the last trace of Draco Malfoy in his life. Now the git was gone. His empty seat between Crabbe and Goyle left vacant. Ron was sure, after he'd blinked a couple of times incredulously, that he saw Goyle sniffle into a hankie and look desolately down at Malfoy's unoccupied chair. They really seemed to be bloody missing the vindictive little shit. And Pansy Parkinson had made a big scene when planting a rose there before she burst into tears and tore out of the Great Hall dramatically, causing Hermione to roll her eyes before returning to her copy of _'The Call of the Mandrake'_ and Harry to snigger along with Fred and George. Ron had remembered sighing in relief that Snape had buggered off to God knows where for the last couple of weeks. The Gryffindor shuddered to think how many points the Potions Master would take from him when he found out that he'd helped in getting his favourite kiss-arse expelled. Although he did try and help him get back in again…

Ron cringed as he remembered his outburst during the meeting, grimacing as he remembered the embarrassment of the whole situation. Holy hell, what was he thinking?! Yelling like that… and had he gone stark raving mad?! Wanting the prick to stay? And saying it front of everyone and everything! He groaned. He didn't know why he did it, wasn't like he enjoyed that bastard groping him or anything…

Sexual harassment. That's what it is when someone puts their unwanted, stinking Malfoy hands all over you. 

Yeah, so maybe he reacted to it… but shit, _anyone_ would react to having someone, you know… _touch _em like that. 'Specially with cold hands. He'd probably have been the same if it were Hagrid or something…

Ah, great. Now he could never look at Hagrid the same way again.

The redheaded Gryffindor suddenly shivered with the licking chill from the night, trying not to think anymore. He squeezed his aching eyes shut tightly. He didn't want to think. He didn't like it. He usually left all that to Hermione. He just wanted to sleep. To crawl into bed and to forget all about today. To forget all about Malfoy. To forget what Fred and George had said earlier that day and to forget _that_ look from Harry…

And why was it that he was always the last to know anything? 

He tried not to pout but it really was a struggle.

Neville's snores sounded around the room as Dean muttered something angrily in his sleep about a referee who clearly needed his eyes checked. Seamus, being the lively bugger he was, was tossing and turning, unable to stay in one sleeping position for too long. Ron knew it was only a matter of time before the energetic Irish boy kicked off his sheets in frustration then fell completely out of bed. The thought managed to turn a weak smile from him. He couldn't recall a night where Seamus _didn't _spend a session napping on the floor. 

And Harry… 

Ron grimaced as his eyes glanced over to his best friend's bed. 

Harry was having a nightmare. 

The redhead sighed in ragged gloom. 

Well, he supposed it was only a matter of time before it happened but it still didn't mean that he didn't secretly hope it would skip a year. He could see a tear slither down the currently not bespectacled wizard's face. He looked away, knowing that Harry would never want him to see him cry. And he didn't want to see it. He hated seeing his best friends upset, no matter how much they argued about minor things like fame and psychopathic pets eating other evil and _demonstrably_ smaller pets. Although he'd never be sentimental enough to tell them, Ron would do anything for either of them… but, with a shrug, supposed that they already knew it. 

He looked on helplessly as Harry, now sweating in fear through his sleep, mumbled incoherently and shook his head desperately. Feeling unsure and awkward with himself as he glimpsed at the pained expression on his best friend's moonlight-illuminated face, Ron bit his lip and turned swiftly back to the window, hoping to mute out his hearing and Harry's desperate pleas. The Boy Who Lived was whimpering and shuddering, squeezing his eyes even tighter and shaking his head in denial at some unknown demon within his mind. And Ron didn't want to see it. He didn't want to think about another threat on his best friend's life. He didn't want to know if Vol… (he shuddered again) if You-Know-Who was coming back for them all. It really was too much for a fifteen year old to handle. To be honest, he had enough problems without having the whole world domination thing to deal with as well. 

He looked down at the muggle watch Hermione had given him on his last birthday (_"You won't have an excuse for being late now!"_) and fumbled for the strange button on the side that used to use eclectrickery to make the digits glow in the dark. When he first got the thing, Ron had shaken his head in impressed disbelief and muttered, _"How do Muggles do it…?"_ He had only very recently mastered how to use the thing, with absolutely no help from an enthusiastic and 'all-knowing' Mr Weasley who had tied the wrist watch around his ankle knowledgeably and had produced a triumphant smile. It took all of Harry strength not to burst into laughter as he showed the two absolutely fascinated Weasleys how to work the alarm. Ron smiled wryly when he remembered the look of pain on his father's face when Hermione had converted the eclectrickery into magic so it could work within Hogwarts. It seemed that Mr Weasley saw such an act as absolutely criminal.

3:08 AM

The redhead grumbled slightly. It was late. Very late. And he still couldn't get to damn sleep. All he kept hearing was the conversation he'd replayed in his head since that afternoon, repeating over and over like some cheap Muggle movie. He couldn't get it out of his head. The niggling fact that there was something he wasn't being told. He sighed, closed his eyes and crossed his arms across his chest, reliving the scene in the Great Hall yet again. It really was getting bloody exhausting doing this every two seconds. He reached up and rubbed at his aching, freckled temples gingerly with his fingertips as he both grumbled under his breath and reminisced…

Man, he had missed the food. It was one of the first places he'd gone to straight after he, Harry and Hermione had literally begged Madam Pomfrey to let him go back to his dorm, despite her protests. He remembered walking merrily to the Gryffindor Tower with Harry and Hermione on either side so they could dump his remaining sweets into his trunk, before the three hurried eagerly to the Great Hall, Ron leading them very enthusiastically. Not even thoughts of Draco Malfoy could hinder him from getting excited about food. Pumpkin pasties… roast potatoes… Yorkshire pudding… Ron remembered licking his lips and hurrying faster.

Once sat at the Gryffindor table for lunch, the redhead recalled clapping his hands then rubbing them together with a hungry gleam in his eye as he gazed at everything with sheer excitement. Fred and George, sitting opposite him, were making animated conversation involving lots of arm waving though he was too busy drooling at the giant chocolate gateau that had suddenly appeared from out of nowhere to care.

Ron closed his eyes tighter as he remembered how it started.

_"It's a shame that no-one else saw the fight, though… I would have paid good money to see Harry knock Malfoy out with a broom…!"_

_"I'd've paid more to actually hit him with the broom!"  _

Ron had remembered vaguely nodding his head at his brothers' musings and the cheers and roars of laughter from his Gryffindor friends, but not really paying attention as he gobbled down about three chicken legs in one go and noisily gulped down a pitcher of pumpkin juice like a starving man. Well, he was pretty hungry… He remembered Hermione's look of disapproval as she handed him a napkin and clearly heard Harry's chortle as his best friend neatly used his knife and fork. Hey, what did they want from him? Madam Pomfrey had been shoving cold stew down his throat for the last few days… 

_"Yeah, Harry. You lucky sod,"_ George had grinned good-naturedly as Ron continued to chomp everything in sight. _"But couldn't you have hit him in the face?"_

_"What, and do Malfoy a favour?" _There was a great burst of laughter sounding from all around the excited and cheerful table. Ron merely helped himself to another couple of rolls as Harry shrugged modestly with a smile. 

_"I don't really remember it all."_

_"Yeah, better to ask old chatterbox Violet," _Fred had added, helping himself to a dangerously wobbly spoonful of green and pink-coloured jelly._ "With a front row seat, she truly is the luckiest sod of them all…" _He said this in a very profound way as he sniffed loudly and raised the spoon as though he were proposing a toast. He then shovelled it inelegantly into his mouth.

If truth were told, the ravenous redhead wouldn't have noticed anything peculiar if Harry hadn't have dropped his spoon with a loud clatter at his brother's words. Looking up from buttering his bread rolls at the bespectacled boy, Ron noted that Harry was looking at him with a both pale and nervous expression as his deep green eyes flickered apprehensively. 

_Wait a minute… _

Ron was beginning to clock on, his half buttered food forgotten. 

There was a witness. 

That old witch Violet had seen everything. And there was definitely something he wasn't being told. He narrowed his eyes as he kept eye contact with Harry, a suspicious and confused frown on his face.

Harry knew something. He really _knew_ something. 

But what the heck did he know?

And why did Harry always need to know everything before he did? Even stuff that was particularly about Ron? …But, seriously, what the bloody heck was going on? Fred couldn't be right. There couldn't be a witness! Even Dumbledore had said there wasn't… and he wouldn't lie! Well, unless something really awful had happened and…

Ron had felt queasy as he gulped down the bitter bile rising from his throat and wondered.

Had something _really awful _happened that day? But what could be worse than what _did_ happen…? 

Christ, what the heck did Malfoy do to him?

He had suddenly stopped feeling hungry. He actually felt ill again. His pale looking face and his sudden halt in eating attracted a few looks, especially a concerned one from Hermione beside him, who nudged him lightly with her elbow.

_"Ron, are you alright? It's been about a whole minute and you haven't finished your plate,"_ she had smiled good-naturedly, then placed her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. _"Is there something wrong?"_

_"Hey, watch it with the hands, Hermione!"_ George had suddenly cried out, mid chewing down on some chips. Fred looked up from his food then grinned mischievously, getting his brother's meaning with the strange twin sixth sense they shared.

_"Yeah, you can make a boy blush with where you put those babies …!"_ To their great delight, Hermione went completely scarlet, retreated her hand back to her lap and looked extremely uncomfortable as she returned to prod at her food with her fork, still flushing terribly. Ron, who usually outdid her mortification ten fold with blushing ears and a usually mumbled "Shut up" when his brother's used crude innuendos, wasn't paying attention. There was only one thing he was thinking of, and that was seeing Violet. And when he pushed back his chair loudly and muttered that he needed to go to the toilet, that was exactly what he was going to do. He needed some answers. He may not have had Hermione's sense or Harry's judgment, but he could plead and make puppy-dog faces. He was very good at them. Well, his mother always fell for them. 

But Ron Weasley soon realised that Violet was far from his mother.

He grunted as he recalled his visit to the wizened old witch who lived in a frame. Fat lot of nothing that did. She just shooed him away with a wrinkly hand, telling him that she had no idea what he was talking about and that she would sick Sir Cadogan on him if he bothered her again. That was warning enough. He'd rather pet Fluffy than withstand more ridiculous sword brandishing and yelling from that nut.

But why didn't anyone tell him there was a witness? Why had Dumbledore lied to the Governors? What the heck did Violet see to be kept so secretive?

The more Ron thought this over and over, the more he couldn't sleep. And at this time, Ron had gone over the scene so many times that his brain felt like mush. With a pissed off sigh, he crossed his arms aggressively and looked out the window in a strop. Bloody Malfoy. Why did that git have to affect him even when he was long gone? Why was Ron still here, stuck up thinking about the blond bugger when he could just get on with making up his Divinations homework, having petty though endearing squabbles with Hermione, beating everyone spectacularly at chess and… What the hell was that?

The redhead peered out the open window, leaning forward and craning his head so much that he almost fell out. He had just heard a noise that didn't constitute as the monstrosities of the Forbidden Forest or the sound of crickets. He was so enthralled and concerned with the sound that his thoughts were temporarily forgotten. Actually, to be honest, it sounded like a person. And if he went all out, he'd go so far to say that it sounded very much like Madam Pomfrey. But what was she doing out there at this time of night, and who was she talking to? Squinting as well as he could in the dark, he could just about make out a figure wrapped in a long black cloak and holding up a lamp as they bustled along… but there was only _one_ figure. Had the school nurse gone insane from looking after Malfoy and begun to talk to herself? He wouldn't have been surprised. His eyes were beginning to hurt from the close inspection and he could still barely see a thing. There was only one thing for it. Hurriedly lifting open the closest trunk to him, Ron rummaged through Harry's belongings (_"Harry won't mind!"_) and almost whooped aloud when he'd found what he wanted; the Omnioculars Harry had bought from last year's Quidditch World Cup. Practically falling over his big feet as he thumped down on the windowsill and put the contraption to his eyes, Ron zoomed in on the figure, which was walking further up the grounds; the redhead waiting impatiently, and with a whole lot of excited lip licking, as the lens began to focus.

It was definitely Madam Pomfrey. She was muttering something as she walked further and further towards… Ron nearly dropped the Omnioculars. She was heading straight towards the Whomping Willow! What was this? Suicide? Had Snape cursed her like he did to Harry's broom stick in their fir…? Oh yeah. That wasn't Snape. He still wouldn't put it passed the greasy-haired prat though.

Ron swore as the wind began to play up again and a leaf slapped straight against the lens of the Omnioculars. Temporarily blinded, the Gryffindor, in angry exasperation, whipped it away to nearly fall out the window again at his sudden sight. Madam Pomfrey had stopped, drawn out her wand and had pointed it straight at the violent and bough swinging tree, a blinding white beam hitting the roots and immediately stopping the tree mid pound. She turned to the thin air and mumbled something with a faint smile on her lips.

She was definitely with someone. Ron's heart was thumping and he was perspiring with curiosity. This called for another visit to Harry's trunk. Falling down on his knees and rummaging as though his life depended on it, the redhead pulled out the piece of old parchment and pulled out his wand from his pocket. Tapping the paper, he whispered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The familiar thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web as the title soon proclaimed that the Marauder's Map was up and running. Eagerly, almost desperately, scanning his eyes and tracing his index finger over the rough paper for the Whomping Willow and the passageway that led to the Shrieking Shack, Ron saw two tiny dots. One was labelled 'Poppy Pomfrey' and the other… He dropped the parchment in shock. He sat, heart practically bursting out of his chest, in complete disbelief. Managing to stumble clumsily to his feet, the Gryffindor raced back to the open window, fumbling furiously for the Omnioculars and peering through them, cursing for how long they were taking to focus. It couldn't be... he couldn't be… he wasn't supposed to be… But it was all simply too true. And Ron Weasley knew it when he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as an only too familiar flash of silver disappeared through the entrance of the tree. 

Malfoy.

* * *

**Harry - The Dream**

He'd seen this house before. Once during a past dream and also when he was transported via a portkey during last year's Triwizard Tournament. The rundown, once stately and impressive house loomed creepily over the Boy Who Lived as he shivered with the cutting night air, goosebumps appearing all over his bare arms as he wrapped them tightly around his t-shirt clad self. The wind whipped at his unruly black hair as he looked warily around, teeth chattering and legs trembling with the cold. Where were his robes? He wished he had them. Any longer out here and he'd be frozen alive.

_Potter…_

On reflex, he whipped his head around, hands clutching around his jeans pockets for his wand. Nothing. Oh Bugger. He didn't have it. Not only was he was stuck in the graveyard that Lord Voldemort himself used as a venue for his Death Eating parties but he didn't even have his wand. And it didn't help that the evil bastard was now calling his name. He looked around again, beginning to panic. Why was he here? What had happened? Where were Ron and Hermione…? It was safe to say that Harry Potter was in trouble. And not even his sense of humour could hide how genuinely terrified he really was.

The icy wind practically sliced through his clothing as he cautiously stepped forward, his arms tightening to ineffectively lessen the cold. His numb green eyes stung with salt water as he tried to blink himself into focus, searching with desperation for anything to help him… but nothing appeared to want to. Feeling the crunch of dead twigs under his shoes, the bespectacled Wizard felt his heart jump with every sound. Oh yes, he sure remembered this place well. He remembered the dead, skeletal remains of the claw-like black trees, the stench of earthy decay in the air and he remembered those graffiti-covered gravestones. He weakly creased his forehead in slight suspicion. He wasn't exactly paying attention to the décor last time he was here, but Harry was sure that he didn't remember there being half so many gravestones...

_I know you hear me, Potter…_

Trying to ignore the snake-like hiss, Harry placed his hands tightly over his ears and stepped charily towards the tiny little stones, almost like the graves of children. He watched with a ragged gulp as leaves and swirls of dust blew aggressively against them with the howling, brutal wind, concealing the names from Harry's view and teasing his fearful curiosity. Bending his shaking knees, the Boy Who Lived kneeled down in front of the first of a never-ending line of graves; the leaf sprawled across it sticking with leech-like possession. Dropping his hands slowly down from his ears, he reached forward with the trembling, ice-like fingers of his right hand and slowly peeled it off…

_Do you really want to know, Potter…?_

His unspoken affirmation seemed to be answered and his wish granted. The leaf relaxed then blew away with another sharp and sudden gust of wind, revealing the whole stone as clear as day. __

**Albus Dumbledore**

**???? - Last Week**

**Died As Secret Keeper to the Boy Who Lived**

Somewhere, Harry heard a high-pitched cackle sound loudly around the cemetery as he choked down a gasp, stood up and shook his head in feeble denial, all the while stepping backwards. All at once, the echoed laughter grew louder and deafeningly piercing and, with a sudden burst of wind and light, all concealing leaves ripped viciously away, revealing every name in the line of graves. 

He tried not to look. Harry wanted to close his eyes and look away but it seemed as though someone was forcing them open, making him cry out in strangled pain as an invisible pair of sharp fingernails pierced through each of his eyelids, keeping them wide open, ripping his flesh when he blinked and tormenting him to glare at the names on the stones.

**Severus Snape**

**???? - Last Thursday**

**Died Saving the Boy Who Lived**__

He shook his head continuously, tears mixing with the blood excreting from his stinging, numbed eyes.

**_Please, just stop…_**

_You're the one who wanted to look, Potter…_

He felt two spiked hands violently slam against his back, making him fall forwards and right onto the next gravestone, his ribs cracking in excruciating agony against the hard granite. He cried out in pain and closed his eyes, only to be welcomed to another rip of eyelid flesh.

_You wanted to look. Look, damn it!_

**Lucius Malfoy**

**???? - Last Week**

**Killed By the Boy Who Lived**

**_I won't look anymore. I won't…!_**

_You already made your decision, Potter._

**Lily Potter**

**???? - 14 years ago**

**Died to Save Her Boy, Who Lived**__

He was pushed brutally, biting back his cries, onto the next stone.

**Humperdink Dandypus**

**???? - Last Week**

**Failed To Kill the Boy Who Lived**

Then the next. 

** Remus Lupin**

**???? – Yesterday Morning**

**Killed helping the **

**Boy who Lived**

And the next.

**Molly Weasley**

**???? - Yesterday**

**Tortured for Loving the **

**Boy Who Lived**

And on and on it went for miles and hours, thousands and thousands of little stones and mounds of earth raised above the ground. Names and dates and future events coming back to haunt him. People he knew, some he didn't, people he hated and people he loved, all lying under the floor beneath his feet as the spirit threw his thin form ferociously on.

**Rubeus Hagrid**

**???? – Today**

**Keeper of Keys who stupidly **

**befriended the Boy Who Lived******

**Fred and George Weasley**

**????-2002**

**Died Because They Knew **

**the Boy Who Lived**

**Sirius Black**

**???? – Yesterday**

**For Godfathering the Boy Who Lived**

The Boy Who Rarely Cried was shaking and racking with sobs, unable to stop or breathe properly. He didn't even dare blink in case the fingernails stabbed deeper, so his eyesight was blurred and bloody. He couldn't even bring himself to cry out for the phantom to stop. He was a limp, shuddering form; hugging himself and shaking his head in desperate and weak defiance.

**_I won't look anymore… It's not true. I won't fucking believe you…!_**

_I wouldn't speak too soon if I were you, Potter. There's still a few more to go… _

Harry shook his head, his breath coming in short, pained gasps as he managed to hiss. 

**_Throw whatever you want at me. You're not going to get me, Voldemort._**

_Oh Really?_

With the last, short bark of laughter from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the spirit pushed Harry so hard that the front of his legs smashed against the short headstone, his shins splintering loudly and causing him to buckle to the floor and over the gravestone, crying in agony and his glasses falling askew. He squeezed his eyes shut, no matter how much the phantom fingernails sunk into his eyelids.

_Get up, Potter. I'm not finished yet._

He felt an invisible hand pull him up by the collar and throw him back to the front of the grave, causing him to land on his now dislocated elbows.

_Read it! Go on… read it! Lets see how much of that Gryffindor courage you really have…_

Against his will, he felt a hand grasp his aching, tender jaw and jerk it to look at the stone in front of him.

_Read it! ****_

**Hermione Granger**

**???? – A few hours back**

**Such a Bright and Able Girl. **

**Too bad she met the Boy Who Lived…**

**_Hermione…_**

_Did you know that that little mudblood would cure cancer? Who would have thought it? _

Harry was too distraught to answer, with every major limb broken or injured, he could only lower his head and cry into his chest, completely weakened and feeling absolutely defeated. He couldn't do this. It was over. He was over.

_Given up already, Potter? _

Fuck the bastard for reading his thoughts.

_But I still have more to dish out. Get up._

Harry just shook his head, whimpering slightly.

_Do you refuse me?_

The Dark Lord wasn't happy. Harry felt a pair of slithery, scaled hands snake around his throat and lift him up, causing him to writhe weakly and kick his legs in mid-air, his aching eyes dry of anymore tears. The hands tightened and tightened, squeezing every puff of air from the his lungs, and laughing outright in his face. Suddenly, he felt his scar burst with pain, causing the little energy in Harry to be spent crying out in feeble pain. This wasn't the spirit, this was…

He weakly opened his bleeding eyes to be on eye level with the Darkest Wizard ever to walk the Earth. Lord Voldemort smiled.

"I'm not finished yet." With that short statement, he dropped Harry down on his broken shins and onto the mound of a grave. He felt Voldemort's slimy, cold hands grasp the back of his neck and push him hard against a headstone, his aching forehead against the cold hard surface. "Are you reading, Potter? Do you see how much destruction your very existence will cause?" An almost purring hiss in his ear. Harry's blurring eyes could vaguely focus and make out the engraved lettering as his scar exploded with more pain than every broken bone put together. 

**Ronald Weasley**

**????- A minute ago**

**Died Shielding the Boy Who Lived**

**He Always Did Come Second Though, Didn't He?**

**_Ron… I'm so… I'm so sorry, Ron… I didn't… I didn't mean to…_**

"Spluttering your forgiveness, Potter?" Voldemort laughed. "Or would you rather have another way of making your apologies…? Allow me to be of assistance…"

Harry didn't struggle. He didn't have enough strength to. Even as he felt his scar burst and split in two, he couldn't even manage the strength to whimper. He completely surrendered, allowing the Dark Lord to pick him up by the shoulders and throw him into the open grave beside Ron's.

**Harry Potter**

**????-Never**

**Buried Alive Since He Was**

**The Only Boy to Live**

He only caught a vague glimpse at the headstone as fell further and further and further and…

"Harry, wake up! Wake up!" 

Groggily opening his eyes, Harry winced as the pain in his head thundered so painfully that his vision disappeared for a session. It was only until he was shaken in violent urgency that he began to awake.

"Oh, Harry! Please wake up!" 

Managing to catch sight of a vibrant red blur and the familiarity of the desperate, concerned voice, Harry nearly burst into tears. As his eyes focused, he finally caught sight of a pale and terrified looking Ron peering into his face and behind him stood their other roommates, each in their pyjamas and looking just as worried and ashen-faced. Before even realising that he'd done it, Harry threw his arms around his best friend.

"Ron, you're alive… Oh Ron…! I thought I'd killed you! Voldemort said that I had…"

Ron didn't wince at the sound of the Dark Lord's name. He didn't even blush embarrassingly and tell Harry endearingly to 'Geroff'. Instead he just pulled away slightly, his freckles deathly prominent under his sickly complexion.

"Harry… your…" He gulped. "Harry, your forehead. Look at your forehead…"

What the…?

But the bespectacled Wizard soon realised what Ron meant, why he was looking as though his best friend had died and why Neville had tears streaming down his face. Ron's shoulder, which Harry had leaned against for only a second, was drenched in red liquid. Gingerly raising his shaking hand to feel at his already pained forehead, Harry touched his scar lightly with his fingers. It was bleeding. It had bled all over his pillow and down his sheets. It wasn't just in the dream. 

Harry's scar really had split in two.


	12. Turning Points

**Harry – The Old Crowd**

"Honestly, Albus! It would be so much easier to treat Potter's wounds in the infirmary…"

Professor Dumbledore's raised hand and uncharacteristically serious expression halted Madam Pomfrey's stressing words, causing her to sigh softly to herself while turning back to continue to tend to Harry's scar in unquestioning submission. The young wizard winced occasionally as the school matron pressed a cotton swab to the tender wound, ironically gritting his teeth painfully to lessen the pain. Professor McGonagall, standing beside the headmaster, was looking on at her student with a very pale, shaken and concerned looking expression. She also had that grave seriousness about her that Dumbledore had adopted. Damn, you'd have thought that someone had died or something. 

"Ow…" Harry hissed unhelpfully, squeezing his watery green eyes as tightly as he possibly could, his hands clutching the armrests of his seat so firmly that he could feel the jabs of tiny splinters imprint against his palms. 

"Poppy?" Madam Pomfrey turned to Dumbledore at his questioning request. Although Harry didn't understand the underlying question in the word, the matron seemed to know exactly what Dumbledore was requesting of her. Maybe she had the Inner Eye or something. Harry smiled weakly, wishing that Ron were in here to laugh with him about that. He eyed the door again. Harry really wished that they would let Ron and Hermione into the office now. He could imagine Ron pacing bad-temperedly outside the door, wanting to break it down as Hermione restrained him, though wringing her hands in nervous fear. Poor Hermione. First Ron got himself beaten half to death, now Harry was being attacked by Dream Voldie. Perhaps she should have chosen safer people to be friends with…

Madam Pomfrey sighed resignedly at Dumbledore as she answered his question, shaking her head and turning back to glimpse at the scar.

"It's deep, Albus. Deeper than just the unconscious self-infliction found during a vivid dream. I don't wish to jump to conclusions but, well…" She trailed off. "If you allow me a second or two, I can repair it fully."

"Please do," Dumbledore nodded serenely, forever unruffled and calm. He caught Harry's eye and produced a small smile. "If that is alright by you, Harry." The Boy Who Lived smiled half-heartedly back.

"I'd rather have it closed up, thanks." 

Madam Pomfrey didn't join in the weak amusement as she pulled out her wand with amazing grace and, without another word, placed the tip deep within the gaping gash on his forehead, causing Harry to cry out and squeeze his eyes even tighter with both surprise and pain. 

Now he thought that he maybe should have told them to leave it open…

While gritting his teeth into numbness, he felt a sudden warm hand clutch his own clammy one to relieve the pain. Though not knowing whom it was, Harry realised that at that point he didn't even care if it was Snape and crushed it with all his might, squeezing back tears in the process. Feeling a warm, soothing balm of light fill within his wound, Harry's grip slowly lessened as he lost himself in the peaceful, honeyed sensation. Somewhere in his blurry subconscious, he heard Madam Pomfrey mutter a combination of words under her breath and he immediately felt the severed sides of his scar tingle, then pull together to join once again. He relaxed his closed eyes, enjoying the harmonious feeling, forgetting everything and everyone around him. He could really just go to sleep right now and never wake up…

"Potter? Potter wake up! Goodness sake, Harry…Harry!"

He was jerked awake, causing his glasses to fall crooked and his eyes to blink repeatedly, and somewhat angrily. His green eyes lifted up at the guilty party and he scowled slightly, readjusting his spectacles. What was Madam Pomfrey's problem? He was really enjoying that. However, the school nurse was too busy looking at Professor McGonagall (oh, it was _her_ who was holding his hand) and Dumbledore, both huddled over Harry and looking down with extreme worry. 

"Oh Albus…" Professor McGonagall said shakily, tearing her eyes from his scar to look at the headmaster with such distress that Harry thought it almost surreal. He actually found himself squeezing _her_ hand to cheer her up. He bit his lip. Perhaps he should have said something. After all, they all looked as though they were going to have a collective stroke. He coughed uneasily.

"Err… I'm fine. Really. You know, it was just a dream and I've had them before, it's just that…" 

But, for once, Dumbledore seemed to be ignoring him as the headmaster turned away, making his way with almost difficulty to his desk then slowly lowering himself creakily down onto his chair. Harry felt a knot in his stomach when he realised just how old the Headmaster suddenly looked. Facing the three pairs of expectant eyes watching his every move, Dumbledore looked troubled as he caught Harry's. 

The Boy Who Lived gulped. 

Reaching for his scar unconsciously, he retreated his fingers with a yelp as he touched the tingling mark. It was scalding hot and would have burnt him if he'd left his fingertips there a moment longer. He didn't need a mirror to know how it looked. He was now pretty sure why McGonagall had shivered when she had glimpsed at it. He was pretty sure that it had turned as black as the Dark Mark. He was also pretty sure that this was a _very_ bad sign.

"I greatly believe that it is time to activate the PortGate," Dumbledore suddenly said, some of his old vigour imminent in his voice. He sighed dejectedly with a sad smile as he looked on at the three occupants. "It unfortunately seems as though the time is upon us once again."

Harry, being the only person in the room without a clue what Dumbledore was going to do, felt as though he should have asked something as the other two nodded shakily, mumbling their concurrence. However, he was too busy wondering what on earth a PortGate was as Dumbledore stood, brandished out his wand and poured water-like liquid from the end of his wand to the desktop; falling into the shape of a solid Crystal Ball as it impacted against the polished wood. Harry couldn't help thinking how very cool that was. And he also wondered why the Headmaster was going to do a Trelawney. Squinting his eyes in curiosity, the dark-haired boy managed to vaguely make out a gold type, circular object embedded in the centre of the ball, which looked oddly like a ring. This puzzled Harry even more as his forehead creased. What on earth did it do? And why was Dumbledore pulling up his sleeves like that? Harry unconsciously jiggled to the edge of his seat, leaning forward to catch every bit of the scene, his hand still held in Professor McGonagall's vice-like grip. He was afraid to pull out of it, just in case his fingers didn't come back with his arm.

Dumbledore placed his hands around the crystal sphere serenely, his palms flat on either side of the smooth glass surface as he closed his eyes. Harry tried not to blink, just in case he missed anything. Then he heard it. A soft buzzing noise slowly amplified throughout the room as the crystal began to slowly glow into a dazzling gold under the headmaster's fingers. The headmaster stood tranquil, a look of pure concentration on his wise and aged face as the loudening noise began to shake ornaments off of his shelves and Harry was forced to cover his ears; the entire room vibrating so uncontrollably that the young wizard was afraid it would explode. Harry, being British and never being out of the country, figured that this was pretty much what an earthquake would be like. He also figured that he didn't much like earthquakes. He closed his eyes as the blinding glowing light began to hurt his eyes and the vibrations intensified, trying to shake his skinny body off his chair and making his glasses jump dangerously to the end of his nose. It was when Harry began to say prayers quickly under his breath, his teeth chattering with the shaking room all the while, when Dumbledore finally opened his mouth to softly say.

"Initiatiato."

At once a blazing light flashed through the room, so forceful and intense that it knocked Harry and his chair clean backwards, splintering the wood frame beneath his spine and causing him to hiss as the back of his head impacted with the floor. Great, now he had lost another billion brain cells. He immediately felt two pairs of hands help him up by the shoulders and his chair by it's broken back. It took The Boy Who Lived a while to figure out what exactly had happened as he rubbed the back of his tender head with a frown but when he saw the difference, he couldn't stop himself from blinking stupidly. Well, to be more exact, Harry had blinked stupidly at the _five_ separate differences as they lifted themselves out of the rubble of ornaments and off the floor. Dumbledore smiled softly at his new arrivals, the melancholy of the situation still very present in his smile. "Well, I can safely proclaim that that was a _very_ dramatic entrance."

Harry, who knew it was rude to stare with your mouth open, continued to do so as he caught sight of the five figures rising laboriously out from under the objects that had been thrown about in the quake. A middle-aged and bad-tempered witch, who had popped out first, muttered swears under her breath as she pulled her foot out of the Sorting Hat's entanglement then dusted herself off irritably. If Harry didn't know better, he would have sworn that she was Mrs Weasley in disguise. The newly-arrived witch did not look happy as she huffed up at the headmaster, her hands on her hips. 

"Impractical, I tell you. Absolutely impractical! Who on earth invented such a daft way to travel? Honestly, Albus, I could have been sitting on the toilet for all you knew! Calling me without so much as an owl or notice!? And the entry! How can I ever be of assistance if I fall on my head and get a concussion?" Dumbledore's smile became a full-fledged grin and he chuckled good-naturedly as the other bodies slowly and painfully got to their feet.

"But my dear Arabella, do you honestly believe that I would have enough time to owl you beforehand if I were being chased by a pack of rabid gnomes?" 

Another oddly familiar growl from across the room sounded in alliance with Arabella, causing Harry's heart to jump slightly in recognition. 

It couldn't be. 

The Boy Who Lived shook his head in feebly. Of course he was hallucinating. Harry had already had two hard hits on the head; he must have been hearing things. But if the Gryffindor didn't know better he could have sworn that that was…

"She's right, Dumbledore," the thin, black-haired man rasped as he stood up from the ornament covered floor, his hand disappearing behind his short, stringy strands as he rubbed the back of his injured neck, wincing at the bruises he felt. "And it's not as if dogs have the most dignified ways of living their…"

"SIRIUS!" 

Harry knew he probably sounded like a schoolgirl in his enthusiasm, but he just didn't care. If it was possible his Godfather's face, at first quite confused when he turned to the voice, broke into a grin both wide and caring. The dirtied loose grey robes he wore and the unkempt look were suddenly forgotten in that instant and Harry mused that he'd never seen Sirius look more like the man in his parent's wedding photo than just then. However, in all his little meditations, the young wizard completely forgot that he was still in a pretty delicate condition and stood so fast to join his Godfather that the blood rushed painfully to his head, blinding his vision and making the room spin nauseously. 

Oh great. 

It was just when he thought he was going to fall and break his head open again, and get a good telling off from Madam Pomfrey in the process, that he felt a pair of strong arms catch him securely, keeping him upright and from hitting the floor. Blinking his eyes lazily for the swirl of colours to subside, the grey blur in front of Harry slowly focused into the utterly concerned and pale face of Padfoot. Harry smiled tiredly. 

"Hey, Sirius." 

Sirius didn't reply, he just looked up at Dumbledore, still holding Harry up, with an apprehensive frown on his face. Harry sighed bad-temperedly. Oh, not him too. The boy wizard wanted to yell at everyone to stop worrying about him and cheer the hell up but he felt a little too likely to vomit to rally up the effort to.

"Dumbledore?" Sirius's asked in disquiet, his expression hinting frustration as he looked at the wise headmaster. Dumbledore lowered himself into his chair, serious once again as Sirius helped Harry back into his own broken chair, standing by his godson with a concerned hand on his shoulder. It was only then that Harry actually noticed the other three persons who'd arrived. His third year Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher, Remus Lupin, was looking at him with a face lined with worry while Alastor Moody, the famous Auror, glared at him with pure suspicion with his large, twitching, hawk-like glass eye as the other normal one looked at the headmaster. Harry realised that he didn't recognise the last man, who was gazing at him silently, but Dumbledore had already begun profoundly before the young wizard could enquire.

"I have called you all today, not only to test-run my grand invention," here he smiled at Arabella the witch, who blushed when she realised what she had said before, "But to inform you all that I believe the activities and motions discussed in the Order of the Phoenix should now be instigated." 

"But why now, Dumbledore?" the stranger in the bright purple robes asked, his almost cartoon like face in earnest. Harry thought he looked like the type of man who would usually smile all day and bounce happily from place to place. However, the small man was presently not smiling. Like everyone else (except Moody who just looked plain paranoid), he was worried. Dumbledore looked up to meet Harry's eyes; Harry knew what he had to do. Feeling somewhat self-conscious, he shakily and reluctantly lifted his hand to move his fringe from his scar. He heard a roomful of gasps, felt Sirius's hand tighten on his shoulder and felt his own face burning red in discomfiture as Arabella took out her reading glasses and leaned forward to get a better look. He looked down from Dumbledore's thanking smile, wanting to run straight out of the room and never return. He bit his lip. There was no way he was going to cry. Not in such a public place and in front of his Godfather. He was not going to cry just because he sometimes hated who he was. He was not going to blubber like a stupid little kid just because the darkest wizard in the world wanted him dead.

"Harry, are you alright?" Harry looked up at Dumbledore, feeling sheepish; his hate for all the attention very apparent on his face. He knew there was really only one thing that would cheer him up.

 "Can… can Ron and Hermione come in now?"

Like his Fairy Godmother, his wish was granted. With a flick of his wrist, Dumbledore had magicked the door open. However, it appeared that the two Gryffindor's weren't quite as ready to see Harry as he was them. It seemed that they were so impatient to see their best friend that Ron had somehow coaxed Hermione to give him a leg up so he could peer through the glass at the top of the door. In fact, Ron was trying with all his might to crane his neck to look into the room, grumbling swears under his breath as Hermione nervously asked if he could see anything, trying to hold his heavy and large foot up with difficulty and a red-face in the process. Harry couldn't stop himself from grinning when they both finally noticed the roomful of people looking at them with amusement. There were looks of complete horror on both their pale faces. With eyes and mouths wide open, Hermione snatched back her hand in her mortification, causing Ron to fall straight to the ground in a heap. Harry could hear Dumbledore chuckle behind him as Madam Pomfrey sighed bad-temperedly at the redhead, who was still looking completely shocked as he lay sprawled on his back and on the ground.

"Do you need _even more_ medical assistance, Mr Weasley?" 

Hermione, whose current skin colour could rival any lobsters', sheepishly and guiltily helped pull up Ron by the arm as the redheaded Gryffindor raked his other hand through his hair, awkwardly licking at his lips and looking queasy when seeing the peeved look on the school matron's face. Neither had yet to notice Harry.

"Uh, I… I'm… err… I'm fine…. I think… err… And is Harry ok?" he said the last bit very fast, the tips of his ears going red as he did. Hermione was still holding onto his arm, looking very embarrassed but seemed to be pressing her fingernails anxiously into the redhead as she bit her lip and awaited the news with him. Oh, for God's sake! Now his best friend's were becoming all worrisome. And the old nag look really didn't suit Ron. Finally deciding that enough was enough, Harry sighed with exasperation and stood up, throwing up his hands in weary frustration and causing surprised looks from his audience.

"Listen, I'm fine. Honestly, everyone. I'm ok. I'm all right_. _Just peachy. I'm fine and dandy. You don't have a thing to worry about."

"Your scar seems to think otherwise, Potter," Moody growled, leaning his weight on his wooden leg as he shifted against the wall, his marred mouth smirking in a twisted manner as his eye rolled around in his head. Dumbledore nodded at his associate.

"I would have to agree with Alastor, despite your… persuasive argument, Harry." Here he smiled in slight sympathy. "This can only indicate that the time has come, and we all know what jobs we must fulfil." He seemed to give each occupant a poignant, meaningful look and everyone returned it with an equally determined look in their eye. Ron simply looked as though someone had just picked him up randomly off the street and thrown him into this scene as he scratched his head. Harry caught his eye smiled at him weakly, which only caused the redhead to finally notice the black scar, blink repeatedly, gulp loudly and step backwards while gesturing to it and mouthing, 'You-Know-Who…?' Subsequently, Harry heard Hermione gasp and pull out a notepad and pen, scribbling madly into it. Oh brother.

"I'll contact The Connoisseurs Union," Lupin said as he stood, his tired grey face resolute as his eyes gleamed alert. "We'll need their help, especially with the Ministry's lack of assistance."

"You'll need help, Remus," Sirius said stepping forward, his absence from Harry's side immediately inducing Ron and Hermione to quickly hurry to his side, both looking down at him with worried concern and nervous glances at each other. Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey also stepped forward as the cartoon-faced gentleman, whose name Harry caught to be Mundungus Fletcher, seemed to be deep in conversation with Dumbledore. Harry muted out their words, even Sirius's. It was all starting to get to him. Ignoring the adults, he turned to his two friends, who'd taken refuge in Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey's seats. There was an uncomfortable silence for a while, no one knowing exactly what to say before Harry turned to Hermione.

"Err… so, um… Did I miss anything important in Herbology?" Ron looked up from his fidgeting hands, cracking a grin on his still pale and shaken face as he caught Hermione's eye. The young witch smiled guiltily then looked away.

" 'Mione was too worried to pay attention," Ron explained, a little gleam in his eye. "Cut up her Pinshoot roots so badly that Professor Sprout told Neville to give her a hand." Harry's wide eyes, then hysterical laughter, seemed to make Hermione even more irritated as she scowled at a laughing Ron.

"You can talk, Ron Weasley. You were so distracted that I had to stop that Venomous Tentacular from taking your hand off!"

"Was not!" 

Harry, still laughing, didn't even notice that Sirius had come back to join them. His Godfather was at his side in an instant. Must have been his dog-like reflexes. 

"Behaving yourselves, you two?" Sirius asked, a twinkle in his dark eyes as he eyed the pouts on both Ron and Hermione's faces. "You know, I'm counting on you two _mature_ adults to look out for Harry." Sirius turned to the two of them exclusively, smiling paternally.

"Sirius!" Harry cried out in protest, blushing madly and trying to look at him huffily. Damn, did he have to embarrass him?

"We will!" Ron cried out stoutly, ignoring Harry's interruption and looking offended that Sirius could ever doubt him as he huffed his chest out. Hermione poked him in the ribs so he deflated as Sirius grinned again and ruffled his red hair affectionately, causing Ron to let out a sheepish smile.

"Look after yourselves, too. And **_no_** mischief this year. I mean it. Anymore owls about **_any_** of you being in the infirmary, I'll be back to collect you all." Hermione nodded, very content to follow this advice as Ron pouted and pursed his lips, grumbling.

"You're getting soft in your old age, Snuffles. You sound just like mum…" However, before Sirius could get too offended and as Harry tried to stifle a smile, Professor McGonagall entered their little circle. Hey, one more person and Harry was sure they could have a party. 

"Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, could you join us for a moment?" 

Looking at each other warily at the quite stern, important note in the Deputy Headmistress's voice, both Ron and Hermione followed her without question, though Ron did nudge Hermione in front and push her along first. What was going on? Harry creased his forehead as he watched Dumbledore whisper something in his friends' ears when they reached him, both nodding zealously at whatever he'd propositioned. Now, why did Harry have a feeling that they were talking about him? Maybe hanging around Mad-Eye Moody was making him paranoid.

"Are you genuinely alright, Harry?" Sirius soft enquiry nearly made Harry grumble. He loved Sirius and everyone else that kept asking about him but sometimes it got annoying. Even if he felt far from ok, he was hardly going to mention it. Besides, he didn't want to inflict his nightmares on others. He wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even that git Malfoy.

"Sirius, I'm fine it's just that…" He couldn't lie at the look on his Godfather's face. Harry dropped his eyes, looking down at his hands as he played with his fingers. "I… I sometimes don't think I can hack all this. I mean, it's so much to deal with and all and sometimes…" He cracked a weak smile. "I-I guess it sounds really stupid and all but I feel really alone…" He immediately felt Sirius's hand on his shoulder as he squeezed his eyes shut again. Harry wouldn't let them well but he was pretty sure that Padfoot could see how red they were.

"Harry," he said sternly, almost as though he were telling Harry off. "You honestly have no reason to feel alone. Just remember that you have a Godfather who loves you and two great friends who'd do anything for you. Don't forget that, no matter what they throw at you. Alright?" Harry managed a smile.

"Alright."

At Sirius's words, he turned over to look back at Ron and Hermione. To his surprise, they were having an arm wrestling match on Dumbledore's desk. And Hermione seemed to be winning. He blinked to make sure he wasn't just imagining things… but no. There they were… arm wrestling. What on earth…? 

He studied the look of red frustration and strained, withering concentration on Ron's face and the huge beam of utter smugness from Hermione. Damn, she really was kicking his arse. Harry couldn't stop himself from grinning as Sirius tutted at Ron's dismal performance.

The grumpy, funny, bad-tempered redhead and the bossy, know-it-all prefect. 

He couldn't have chosen better friends if he tried.

**

* * *

**

**Ron - The Pensieve**

_Who'd have thought she'd have that much strength in her?_ Ron wondered afterwards as he massaged his aching, strained wrist with his fingers, wincing with the pain. Then again, he supposed that all those useless books Hermione carried about with her all the time resulted in daily weight lifting. Bloody unfair advantage, that was.

He grumbled.

Not only did he have to live with the shame that the small and fragile-looking prefect was stronger than him (he shuddered as he imagined the gleeful expressions on Fred and George's faces when they found out) but Ron had also lost the bet he'd struck up with Hermione. Bugger it. He knew they should have played Wizard's Chess. He was yet to find a worthy enough opponent, and Hermione's skill in chess would definitely have secured his place as Harry's eventual secret keeper. However, Hermione had won fair and square (Ron snorted) and she would take the position when the time came. Despite his childish protests, Hermione did reason with him sensibly that he could help Harry in other ways and that he was still the closest thing the bespectacled wizard had to a brother… but still! Ron still couldn't help feeling more than just _slightly_ resentful and sulky.  Harry was his best mate, too! He'd risked his life, and still would a thousand times, for the Boy Who Lived _and_ he understood Harry better than anyone did, including Hermione! After all, she was just a girl… 

The redhead winced as soon as he thought that. If Hermione had ever heard him calling her 'just a girl'…

_Beaten by a Mudblood anda girl, Weasley? Why aren't I fucking surprised?_

Ron scowled. Bloody Malfoy. As soon as the real Draco Malfoy had left, the imaginary foe had parked himself into Ron's head and refused point blank to bloody leave, no matter how hard (and painfully) the Gryffindor tried to beat him out. He was getting stronger with every day that passed and now that little buzzing in his ear had become a fully-fledged permanent sneering. Nowadays, he just tried to shrug it off but his imagination was very good at creating cutting rejoinders about his family when posing as Malfoy. This being the case, Ron wondered why his inner monologue made his own comebacks always sound so stupid. And it was seriously beginning to get to him. It was like some twisted and totally oblivious obsession now, though Ron would rather go live as the bearer of Aragog's children in the Forbidden Forest than ever admit that. However, the redhead _would_ admit that it was bloody annoying, with the blond prick long gone and all, that he still managed to have spats with him. But then again, the Gryffindor reminded himself that the Slytherin shit wasn't long gone, was he…? 

Ron gritted his teeth.

**_Piss off, Malfoy. Just get lost at the back of my head or something…_**

_Why should I when I know you don't want me to, Weasel? Why don't you just pay me a visit…? You know exactly were I am…_

**_Yeah, you think you're so clever, Malfoy? Why the heck would I want to visit a pointy-faced bastard like you anyway?_**

_Because you want to fuck my brains out._

**_Shit._**

_Admitting it now, are we? Faggot. Bet you really got off on my hands being up your robes, too…_

**_No! You're barking, you are! Like I'd want you touching me…!_**

_Is that why you__'__re imagining me naked?_

**_Bugger. How did that happen…?_**

_Pervert._

**_Conniving Bastard._**

_Schizophrenic shithead.  _

**_…_****_Listen. Just_****_…_****_ just go fuck yourself, Malfoy_****_…_****__**

_Why don__'__t you do it for me, Weasel? Or just do it to me? I__'__m not far and I know you want to, you perverted little queen__…I'm right here waiting for you, Potty boy. Right fucking here… ___

Right, this was definitely going too far. Why was his mind turning against him like this? Ron had always treated it well. What had the redhead ever done to it except let it doze while he muted out lectures and chewed happily on a sugar quill? Ron squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head angrily as the imaginary Malfoy gave him an authentic and utterly infuriating smirk, flicking his blond hair out of his silver eyes. Damn it. Why couldn't he just get the sexy and psychopathic Slytherin bastard _literally _out of his head? 

Oh shit. 

He just called Malfoy (the git) _sexy_. He actually admitted that he was _attractive_. But…but just because he was observant didn't actually mean he wanted to kiss or grope the stupid little bastard, did it…?__

Ron gulped at the imagery.

This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all. 

He was in trouble. 

The Gryffindor felt his hands going clammy. He was beginning to panic.

He was in a _lot _of trouble.

He needed to fix this. He needed to stop thinking about the prick like this. He needed to know what happened in the hallway that day. He needed to know what Malfoy had done to him. It must have been a spell or something. Yeah… some illegal Death Eater curse. Trying to make Ron think he was gay when he clearly _wasn't._ He wouldn't put it passed the little shite. Oh, he was going to give the slimy git such a pounding when he next saw him…

Ron needed to talk to Dumbledore. Dumbledore would know what to do. Dumbledore could give him advice. But, most importantly, Dumbledore _knew_ what had happened. Ron was sure of it. Which is why the redheaded Gryffindor was still sitting in the headmaster's office as Dumbledore escorted everyone else outside like a gracious host, leaving Ron alone to gape at everything in the extraordinary and beautiful room. Grand sparkling mirrors, pictures of past Headmasters snoozing contentedly in their frames, odd diagonal placed shelves on the wall stacked with seemingly useless, noisy and colourful junk and a little box on Dumbledore's desk, which was full to the brim with sweets were just a few of the things that the redhead peered interestingly at… especially the sweets. However much Ron's mouth watered though, the Gryffindor figured that stealing treats from the most powerful wizard in modern times was about as stupid as poking a sphinx in the eye with your wand. Besides, even Dumbledore had a weak spot. And lemon drops were as good a cause as any Ron had heard.

Uh-oh.

The immediate thought of food caused the Gryffindor's stomach to growl fiercely, demanding to be filled as soon as possible. Ron bit his lip as he tried to cradle his noisy belly, hoping it would lessen the noise. Darn it. It was all his own fault. The redhead should have known what would happen when he thought of sweets. He grinned sheepishly to himself as he wondered what Hermione would think about his obsession with eating twenty-four hours a day. Probably give him her book on 'Magical Diets and How to Follow Them'. With a snigger, Ron thought how well someone like Crabbe could benefit from a book like that. Pity that the stupid dolt couldn't read to save his life. And even clear diagrams would have to be explained thoroughly. How the heck did someone as impatient and as intelligent as Malfoy hack him and his equally brainless twin? 

_Can't even stop thinking about me for two seconds, Weasel? You've got it bad._

Ron groaned. How had he gone from talking about lemon drops to Malfoy?

_Both confectionaries you want to suck? _

**_Naff off!_**

_*Smirk*_

Right, he could do this. He could stop thinking about that conceited little arse for longer than ten seconds. And he could bloody well prove it, too. Muttering _"Distraction… distraction… distraction…" _under his breath repeatedly into an odd sort of chant, Ron's desperate blue eyes gazed imploringly around the room for any form of _anything_ that could divert him for at least a minute, or until Dumbledore came back. Anything shiny or edible would do…

_Why don't you check whether I'm edible, poor boy?_

**_Lalala… I'm not listening to you…_**

Ultimately (while ignoring the arse and his pervy innuendos), he found a suitable enough distraction in the wardrobe at the far side of the room; its door tantalisingly ajar. Leaving a half-open closet lying around one of Hogwarts' famous trio was never a good thing, and especially when they were trying to run away from the taunts from their imaginary foe… unless you _want _them to go through your stuff. Too closed to see any of its possessions and yet quite open enough to stimulate one's curiosity… Man, it was too good to miss. Ron grinned nervously.

**_Wicked. A distraction… Eat that, you pasty git._**

_Wow, a wardrobe. Nice to see your small mind can deal with it, Weasel._

**_Still can't hear you…_**

Ron immediately stood up, warily eying the door Dumbledore would be returning by with nervy glances. He stepped with obvious anticipation and hopping steps towards the fine-crafted closet, his feet too big to make his awkward steps look like tiptoes. Although it took effort, the redhead tried his hardest not to look like a troll (or Goyle) trying to impersonate a ballerina as he leapt towards the enticing wooden box.

It wouldn't hurt to look… and it wasn't as though he were going to steal anything… He only needed to sidetrack his mind for a couple of minutes… But what was that Muggle saying again? 'Curiosity killed the cat'...? Ron's brow furrowed as he again pondered how nutters Muggles were. Whose cat were they talking about? He really didn't exactly understand how a cat had anything to do with this, though Ron secretly hoped that it was Filch's that snuffed it. Nosy, conniving little…

He reached out to place his fingertips on the edge of the already slightly open door. Still nervous enough to bite down on his bottom lip and flash one last glimpse at the office door, Ron peered through the opening crack and into the closet as he pulled the door further towards him. He blinked at his findings. After all his curiosity and anticipated wondering Ron was finally faced with…

A whole load of goldfish bowls with lots of foggy stuff in them.

Ron made a face. Darn it. Not a galleon in sight or even a weird and very cool 'Good against Evil' gadget to use against You-Know-Who. It wasn't as though he didn't know what they were. He hadn't lived 15 and 3/4 years as a wizard to not recognise a shelf full of Pensieves when he saw one. However, Ron also knew not to meddle in other people's thoughts. Not only had Percy made that quite clear when he filled his own room full of them (some even in spare bottles that were lying around) but his mother, whose good books he was presently in, would give him such a bollocking that he would be completely deaf in one ear until Christmas. So, with a dejected sigh and a horrible inkling that Dream Malfoy would return very soon and begin to harass him until his ears went scarlet, Ron proceeded to close the door. However, that was until his bored eye suddenly caught sight of a little plaque beside one of the Pensieves. He did a double take. He blinked again. His brain tried to make sure he wasn't hallucinating as usual. Then his mouth dropped open, his hand frozen stiff on the door.

**Violet – Weasley/Malfoy Incident**

This was it. This was what he wanted to know. This was what he had wanted Violet to tell _him_, if she wasn't such a forgetful hag. Ron gulped at his findings, both his conscience and the flesh under his skin tingling as he eyed the swirling, silvery mist. 

He knew he shouldn't… he couldn't (especially if his mother found out)… but just looking at the answer, which even a usually befuddled person like Ron could tell was staring him straight in the face… 

And for some reason he felt strange contentment from his name being first.

He hopped nervously on the spot. 

…How could he resist? Ron licked his lips uncertainly again, peeking at the office door again. He didn't have much time…

Just a little peek. Just two seconds were all he needed to see what had happened… he could go_ inside _and practically touch and taste whatever Violet had seen. He could see himself. He could see Malfoy. And he could see _exactly_ what the malicious bastard did to him on that fateful day.

And so he did it. He did exactly what his father had explicitly told him throughout his entire life _not_ to do. He'd trusted his safety into an object whose brain he couldn't see. 

With one last paranoid glance back at the door, Ron gulped, squeezed his eyes tightly and slowly put his quivering, lightly freckled hand into the depths of the liquid vapour. 

In an instant, he felt his entire hand freezing painfully with the strange sensation. He gritted his teeth, swearing loudly as the cold travelled in arctic trickles up his arm, spreading to his chest, pushing whole glaciers through his heart and spreading down to his legs and up his neck to his head – giving head-cold a whole new meaning. His mind went numb and he automatically felt tired, head spinning and more confusion dawning on him than looking at any of Hermione's Arithmancy graphs. And before he knew it, he felt himself being spun around and around and around, being swirled and churned beyond form and his body… and very slowly, he felt himself being sucked into the basin like liquid through a straw… 

And then he landed. He hardly remembered falling but Ron Weasley sure as heck knew that he hit the ground, especially considering the pain he felt on his now tender rear. Scowling, he rubbed his aching backside as he lifted himself slowly and sorely onto his feet, muttering the many ways he was going hurt Malfoy (a lot) when this was over. But then he realised where exactly he was and thoughts of turning Malfoy into a cruelly pink bunny rabbit were gone from his head. Blinking repeatedly, Ron took in the scene in incredulous disbelief, his mouth open in amazement. 

It was bloody creepy. 

He was standing in _that_ very corridor off the third floor all over again. Glancing all around him as though he had never seen the place before, Ron found himself standing right outside Violet's picture. He could smell that scent of winter in air, could note the desolateness of the corridor absolutely identical to how it had been before and he could hear the more than familiar laughter down the hall. Trying to wipe the dust of the stone floor off his jeans, Ron lifted his eyes and squinted his eyes through the bright hallway. He looked down the fork in the hall and his sight nearly made him choke down on plain air as his eyes bulged. Crikey, he was actually hearing and seeing him and Harry coming back from Quidditch practice! He could see his past self chuckling with Harry, both with their broomsticks over their shoulders casually but Ron (who pretty well guessed by now that he was very invisible) was too busy looking with loathing and a strange jolt of his heart at the new arrival on the scene to heed their conversation. Malfoy, looking completely pissed off and a bit more sickly pale than usual, stormed right into Harry and his past self, making Ron's own fists clench as he heeded the remarks, the taunting, the smirks, the fluid body movements and the way the Slytherin shit always knew the right buttons to push. 

God, hearing it all again still made the redhead shake with pure rage. He was as red-faced as his past self.

It was just as the present Ron was about to attack Malfoy himself when the blond pounced, making Ron step back in shock at the abruptness of the attack. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried not to join in. Not only would it do no good (considering he was a mere phantom here) but he couldn't get his emotions all mixed up in this, despite how hard the redhead found this order to be. Watching this was the reason he was here. 

And so he watched. 

He watched Malfoy break his jaw. He watched Malfoy break his nose. He saw the spray of blood splatter over both their faces. He watched himself trying to gasp for breath, drowning in his own blood as the punches increased. He watched Harry try and pull Malfoy off. He felt a spasm of anger hit him as he watched the blond hit his best friend, making him cower to the ground. He heard Harry's groan, a sound of broken of glass and then…

Ron felt his heart plummet to his stomach, his mouth completely dry.

He watched as Malfoy _kissed_ him. 

He watched in breathless awe as the tongue explored his mouth. He watched, gulping loudly, as the teeth bit viciously into his lips. He watched with a shudder as Malfoy's bloody lips latched cruelly onto his throat, sucking and biting brutally into his flesh. He watched Malfoy retreat. He watched the look of complete mortification on his pointed face. And then he watched Harry swing his Firebolt over Malfoy's head, knocking him out over Ron's bloodied, unconscious past self. 

But Ron only kept one image in his head. He watched the first press of lip to lip over and over and over until it played in loop within his raging mind. He watched it as he exited the Pensieve. He watched it as he staggered out of Dumbledore's still empty office. He replayed it in his head as he hurried down the stairs and passed the gargoyle. He saw it play again and again as he ran pale-faced down the halls, slammed the Hogwarts's entrance doors open and sprinted breathlessly through the grounds and to the Whomping Willow. And Ron Weasley even saw it as he used his wand to hit the roots, running through the passageway he'd just revealed and heading in wild, brutally fierce fury straight towards the Shrieking Shack. 


	13. The Whomping Willow

_Ron's last line belongs to 'Gimme, Gimme, Gimme' and is said by the brilliant James Dreyfus. _

* * *

**Draco ****-**** Malfoy gets his Wheezy**

Draco Malfoy had no idea Weasley had found out. He had no idea that, as dense as Weasley was, he'd finally figured out the truth. The Slytherin was, if truth were told, blissfully unaware that a psychopathic Weasley was currently hurtling in snarling rage through the tunnel towards his temporary home. As far as he knew, Draco thought everything was pretty normal. After all, while the currently unhinged Gryffindor had been travelling through the depths of a Pensieve, the easily irritable Slytherin was busy glaring at his Arithmancy class through his Observer Screen and writing up his atrociously simple essay 'Maths and Magic have a Formulaic Connection – Explain' for Professor Vector to collect on Friday ('What exactly do they think I am, a fucking defective to need four days to write something as simple as Longbottom is?'). And now, at the very moment Weasley was zooming forwards like a speeding bullet to hurt him (a lot), Draco was having a shower. Actually, he was having a very nice and relaxing shower until he heard a loud CLANG and a squeak sound from the living room of the Shrieking Shack.

He growled as the sudden noise caused one clumsy, shampoo-covered finger to accidentally poke him in the right eye. 

Shit. 

He scolded himself at the very ungraceful act as he fumbled around blindly for the nearby sink for his wand, viciously cursing everybody he'd ever met in his life under his breath. Fucking shampoo manufacturers. They knew all the magic in the world but they couldn't make a bloody shampoo that didn't sting your eyes, could they? And, come to think of it, why the heck did he have to be surrounded by bloody morons everywhere he went anyway? Crabbe, Goyle and crapping dogface Parkinson… Draco just didn't get it. Considering how ruthless and shrewd they were supposed to be, why were all the Slytherins he knew so appallingly dim? Well, all except him of course. He was always the exception. Then again, it wasn't exactly very difficult being smarter and better looking than those idiots. Even Longbottom could give them a run for their money. 

But now he was letting his mind run off with him again. 

Bugger that.

Finally clutching his sweaty fingers around his wand, Draco muttered a Clean Up spell irritably with a swish of his wrist (a spell that a nymphomaniac like Draco knew by heart since a young age). Immediately feeling the lathered shampoo and hot water evaporating in seconds from his face, the Slytherin blinked to focus his vision once again then peered sneeringly passed his ajar door. He knew exactly who it was that made that racket and oh, Draco was _really_ going to get them this time. 

With a snarl, he jumped out from under the spray of warm water as he swiped viciously for the fluffy white towel hanging from the nearest hook. 

Ooooh, he was pissed. 

There were many things one shouldn't do (if they liked the look of their face), and one of the topmost in that list was disturbing a Malfoy while he took a shower. And he, a Malfoy, had just been disturbed and during an exceedingly enjoyable shower at that. 

He bared teeth. 

The Slytherin, making his way to the living room, had scarcely tied the towel around his naked and, in his opinion, stunning self, when he heard a shrilly squeal and a little figure rocket across the room and away from Draco's fierce, swiping grasp. He was left ferociously clutching at thin air, which only peeved Draco off more. The blond boy heard the tiny body's back slam against the back wall and saw it covering its huge tennis ball eyes, shaking with utter fear.

"Dobby is sorry, Draco Malfoy, sir! Dobby is accidentally dropping the plates, Sir! Dobby is not seeing what he is doing! Dobby is not seeing anything, Sir!" 

It didn't take Draco long to stride over to the wall where sprawled the cowering and tiny figure of his old house-elf, who was dressed in a ridiculous tea cosy, an assortment of brightly coloured socks and a knobbly maroon jumper. It also didn't take the Slytherin long to grasp Dobby by the ear and jerk him off the ground until he was on Draco's eye level. The little elf writhed in pain, squealing and kicking its tiny legs into the air. With a little smirk emerging from his anger, Draco suddenly realised how much he had missed this. Punishing Dobby had been his favourite past time as a child. It was he who had first suggested that Dobby iron his hands whenever he was disobedient. 

Trying to get livid again and stop reminiscing about one of the very few joys of his childhood, Draco pulled his most spiteful face (narrowed eyes and all) and snarled his mouth.

"If you're fucking implying that I have _nothing_ for you to see then…"

"No, Sir!" squeaked the elf in pain, wincing as Draco's fingernails pressed deeper. "Dobby is having lots to be seeing, Sir! Dobby is just not seeing, Sir! Dobby is a bad elf!" Draco tried not to smirk. He loved it when people cowered before him like this. After all, Weasley down on his knees and begging for him was one of the biggest turn ons he could think of…

Shit, now wasn't the time for this. 

Cold showers… Dobby wearing nothing but that tea cosy… Pansy and Goyle during mad monkey sex…

Draco shuddered, remembering to sneer maliciously and tried not to sound weakened.

"Dobby is a blind fucking elf too, isn't he?" he prompted, his voice lessening a decibel to sound more menacing. The elf nodded emphatically, as though there were nothing in the world that he agreed with more.

"Yes, Sir. Dobby is a bad elf. Bad, bad Dobby! But please Master Draco, Sir… please be giving Dobby another chance…" The elf's lip was trembling as its eyes widened with urgent imploration. Dobby looked so desperate, so tearful, so hopeful and so wounded that anyone else would have pitied the shaking elf and lowered him to the ground. Draco, however, was a vicious creature by nature and merely sneered cruelly. A Malfoy's timing was always immaculate and the Slytherin boy had estimated and calculated precisely that this was the perfect opportunity to stamp his victim viciously under his foot. He leaned forward, pencil nose pressed against pointed as his eyes glinted sadistically.

"Remember the last time I gave you a chance, Dobby?" he hissed dangerously, willing the elf to remember in dread. "Remember how badly you fucked that up?" The elf shook his head vigorously again, wide eyes pleading in unjust judgement.

"Dobby tried, Master Draco Sir! Harry Potter did not heed Dobby's warning, Sir…!"

It took many a serious and tender matter to make Draco visibly lose his temper, and Dobby shook with fear as he witnessed his master spit with rage.

"You couldn't even keep Potter from thinking he had no friends! You just couldn't keep Scarface from going near Weasley again, could you? And then you had to go all fucking noble and tell him about Lucius's plan…!" Dobby squealed doubly as Draco's grip tightened even more; the ear going completely numb now. 

"Dobby is sorry, Master Draco! But Harry Potter is good, sir. Harry Potter is noble and valiant and kind and…" Draco leaned back and withdrew his face, still clasping Dobby's right ear as hard as he possibly could as he drew out his wand threateningly.

"One more word about how fucking wonderful Potter is and I'll turn your ears into lead," he said icily, every word enunciated clearly so Dobby could not be mistaken.

But the elf just didn't fucking get it, did he? Dobby just looked mortified that the Slytherin could ask such a thing of him.

"But Master Draco, Sir! Harry Potter is being Dobby's Saviour, Sir and…"

"I'm going to give you the count of three before I hex you, Dobby." Draco spoke in a calm voice, as though he were simply going to tell Dobby the weather forecast. The house-elf's eyes grew shiny with tears as he looked absolutely panic-stricken.

"Oh Master no!" he squealed, trying to shake his head as Draco's fingers tightened even more around his ear. He looked as though his world were coming to an end as he wept, tears now falling down his ugly brown face. Draco took no heed, grinning wickedly on the inside.

"One…" 

Dobby seemed to be trying to think of many thoughts within his mind, because his face betrayed his inner turmoil as he shook his head repeatedly. The little elf's bat-like ear was turning red under Draco's grip as he began to sob and squeak and splutter and make as many desperate noises and pleas as he could. 

"Master, Dobby is a good elf…! Please master…"

"Two…"

"Dobby is sorry, Master Draco! Dobby is not meaning being bad…!"

"Three." Draco said the death sentence casually, shrugged nonchalantly but his eyes gleamed with hunger. Aiming the tip steady and right between Dobby's frightened, wide and shining eyes, the Slytherin had just opened his smirking mouth to curse when there was a sudden CRASH of the front door. The abruptness not only made the towel-clad Draco drop the house elf to the floor, who scurried away towards the door, but also made the normally calm and collected Slytherin actually drop his wand in his surprise. However, the latter only happened when he turned around and saw _exactly_ whom it was who had just broken down his door, who it was that was now standing in the doorway and who exactly it was panting for breath and looking absolutely fuming. 

Draco blinked in his shock, his mouth dropping open. After a second, he could only manage a splutter of,

"Weasley, what the fuck are you…?"

But before he could even finish that pitiful sentence, Draco had witnessed the redheaded Adonis and sexy bastard thunder fumingly towards him and pound him in the face with such brute and precise force with his fist that the blond's head jerked back painfully and his spine slammed hard against the wall that Dobby had previously pinned his little self against. The back of the Slytherin's head banged with blinding and star-seeing impact and, when the black had finally subsided, Draco was in too much shock to do anything but raise his fingertips to his bleeding lip, then blink and stare at Weasley in amazement.

"Mr Wheezy Sir, what is you doing?!" Dobby squeaked behind his hands, looking at the scene with an expression of both terror and slight admiration, by the door. "Mr Wheezy Sir will be getting in trouble with Professor Dumbledore, Sir! Dobby is not wanting Harry Potter's Wheezy in trouble!"

But Weasley wasn't heeding the house-elf or its high-pitched cries. 

He was too busy glaring at the Slytherin. 

Immense hatred was plainly seen on his flushed face and that ripped chest of his was heaving with breathlessness as he took deep gulps of air. Draco could see the clenched fists, the blazing tips of his ears, the snarling lips, the flashing, slit blue eyes and the absolute ferocity of his anger. Jesus, what the heck had pissed him off so much? The blond boy had never seen Weasley look so utterly pissed and so irresistibly gorgeous. And there was only one thing the Slytherin could do when he was faced with such magnificence. 

Draco growled. 

He snarled loudly as he returned the Gryffindor's look, rubbing the back of his own tender head as his damp blond strands tickled his eyes. Harry Potter's Wheezy? Fucking _Potter__'__s_ Weasley? Weasley would never belong to Scarface. Draco would make _damn_ sure of that. And Draco would also make _damn_ bloody sure that Weasley thought twice about ever daring to punch him again. 

Draco drew up his slightly slouched, pale form to his full height to look imposing, though he was still a good inch shorter than Weasley. Fuck him and his tall, glorious body. Wiping the blood from his stinging lip stiffly with the back of his hand, Draco tried to act as calmly as possible, though his cold grey eyes never left his red-haired opponent's mad-eyed, frenzied and utterly insane expression. Any fiercer and the Slytherin was sure he would have to conjure a cage to restrain him in. However, before Draco could even think about hexing the shit for drawing such blue blood, Weasley began to tremble furiously, pointing at the Slytherin accusingly with an outstretched, shaking finger as his eyes looked strangely wide and apprehensive. And… shit, was the Weasel actually turning pale?

"You bloody git, Malfoy! You… you sick sodding pervert!" Weasley gulped down another breathless pant as he licked his lips almost painfully; his complexion so pale that he looked as though he was going to throw up. He looked beyond pissed, utterly grossed-out and he was calling Draco a Pervert (well, a 'Sick Fucking Pervert' to be more precise). Draco swallowed down the bile rising from his throat as he pieced it all together. 

Oh Arse.

Weasley _knew._ He didn't just _know_. He _really_ knew.

Fuck Fuckety Fuck Fuck Fuck. The Slytherin was more screwed over than his mother.

Ok, Draco couldn't panic. He had to be calm. He wasn't just going overreact and grab that desk lamp over there and slam it over Weasley's head to kill him and keep the secret forever unknown.

To do that, he would have to get rid of Dobby first.

"Dobby, leave," Draco said simply, his normally sneering voice now a flat and serious tone as he used all his strength to keep himself from shaking and to maintain a passive appearance. "And tell no one what you've seen or heard."

Dobby, gazing from master to Wheezy, looked torn but one last look at the icily severe silver-haired boy with his own bulbous, luminous eyes seemed to make up his mind. With a loud crack, the house-elf disappeared and left the two archenemies alone.

After a couple of minutes of silent glaring at each other, Weasley finally managed to regain his wits (and his breath) as he shook his head slowly and looked at Draco with those wide, disgusted though thoroughly sexy scared-looking blue eyes.

"I… I always knew you were nutters, Malfoy but I… never bloody guessed that you were some sick queer fairy as well." 

Although he spoke with a shaky and scared tone (where the heck had the anger gone? Stupid Gryffindor…) Draco could see he was trying to cover his shocked and pale expression with a look of revulsion. Nice fucking try, Weasley. And did he honestly just call Draco a shit-stabber when he was simply screaming 'I'm a closet homo – do me now'? 

The blond boy hissed between his bared teeth. Nobody was ever allowed to call him homosexual. Not gorgeous wanker Weasley. Fuck, not even himself. And before he could even think of continuing with his controlled and cold behaviour, Draco snapped.

"Who the fuck are you calling pansy-arsed, you ginger prick? You're the one who got off when I put my hands up your robes… Remember, Weasel?"

Well, that memory sure pissed his unbalanced little canon off. So that's where his anger had disappeared to…

Damn. Weasley really was too jumpworthy for words when he went all red and intimidating like that. Sexy, trembling little shit. With a smirk, Draco supposed that he might have well finished his taunting with a proper insult. "Or are you so pathetic that you even get a rise when that filthy little Mudblooded bitch touches you as well…?"

He had obviously hit a nerve. 

Before Draco could finish his sneering sentence properly, Weasley had, like so many other times in their duelling history, growled in pure rage then pounced on the Slytherin ferociously. 

In all honesty, it took Draco a minute or two to recover from the initial shock of the attack… and then it took the Slytherin more than just a couple of minutes to actually realise that Weasley wasn't _exactly_ punching him. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

The Weasel wasn't just _not_ punching him.

The violent little prick was kissing his face off with brutal force.

The redhead's hard chest had slammed brutally into the Slytherin's; Weasley using his entire body to sandwich the smaller boy excruciatingly against the wall as both their ribs and their teeth knocked painfully together with the violent impact. 

What in Satan's left bollock…?! 

He _really_ wasn't expecting that.

Draco, who had completely lost his breath when the Gryffindor had pressed his lips fiercely and hungrily upon his own, pretty much decided that he didn't give a Goddamn about breathing. He also decided that there was no arsing way that he was going to sit back and let Weasley take charge. He slipped his snake-like arms crushingly around the redhead's waist and pulled the boy in possessively against his own body, commandingly sliding his tongue over the roof of the Gryffindor's magnificent mouth. He could feel Weasley's long arms wrap around him with almost fierce protectiveness as he pushed Draco further into and further up the wall fanatically, ferociously shoving his groin against the Slytherin's towel hidden one and causing them both to moan unintelligibly into each other's mouths. Draco knew he should have fucking pushed Weasley down to his knees, onto a bed, into a shower… but having him thrust the Slytherin so violently against a wall was so bloody enjoyable that he couldn't even bring his panting mouth and sweating body to fight in resistance.

Fuck… oh fuck… oh fuck… oh fuckety fuck…

It was only a matter of time before his towel fell off and all hope would be lost…

"M… M-Mal… foy…" Weasley managed with difficulty, his pants of breath against Draco's lips as they both squeezed their eyes tightly shut and continued to buck against each other viciously.

How the fuck could he be so bloody coherent when Draco was a sweaty mess and, in his present state, could hardly string two words together? Stupid crappy Gryffindor. The Slytherin could definitely give him something to cry about. And, with a strained and almost pained smirk, Draco skilfully slid his hand down between their violently driving bodies and cupped a certain area of Weasley so tightly with his hand that the redhead's eyes tightened even more while he bit his adorably puckered lip until it turned white, his breathing continuing to shorten. 

"L-L…Like that… W-Weas… Weasel?" Fuck this breathless and turned on disposition. If he were any harder Draco would be permanently stuck this way. And… wait, what the heck was Weasley doing opening his eyes (even if they were pretty?)? He was supposed to be so far gone that he couldn't do anything but bloody succumb to the Slytherin's irresistible charms! What was he bloody playing at…? However, the Slytherin was soon pleased to see that Weasley, through violently aroused moaning, could only intelligibly groan three words as Draco began to lick his way seductively across the redhead's jawbone and down the curve of his neck; his Adam's Apple quivering with every shaky gulp.

"M… M-Malf-foy… uh… b-bed… now." Weasley, who looked startlingly flushed and was trying to control his heavy breathing, looked almost as though he would either cry or kill the Slytherin if refused.

Well, Draco always was one to please.

Hoisting up his loosening towel over his sweaty hips with as much dignity as he could, the blond boy, who was still trying to control his own unnaturally unsteady breathing himself, gestured for the Gryffindor to follow him. Stumbling out the room and buckling up the stairs, they were both practically breaking into a sprint in their eagerness and finally slammed the bedroom door open so hard in their impatience that one of the hinges detached from the door. But who the fuck cared about the door? Draco was too busy being shoved flat on the bed, with his back smacking hard on the mattress by an overzealous Weasley, to even take notice. Although the taller boy suddenly jumped on top of him (and painfully too), the Slytherin was too busy having the face snogged off him and drowning himself within the delectable taste as he raised his own legs and wrapped them securely around Weasley's waist. The Slytherin had a strange and pretty sure feeling that his towel had slipped off him somewhere along the way but having Weasley eagerly sucking on his tongue was bound to make a guy oblivious to everything else around him. 

Oh God he tasted good. And he felt bloody perfect to… like a warm blanket on top of him…

Wait a fucking minute. Why the hell was he talking like a bloody lovesick girl again? And why the heck was Weasley still on top? Arrogant prick. And how could Draco have become so distracted by the Weasel's allurements to even fucking allow it? With a deep, throaty growl, the Slytherin tightened his legs with rib-breaking force as he slid his palms up the Gryffindor's back and raked his hands through his fiery, damp red hair, grabbing fistfuls of it with clenching fingers. He smiled against his redhead's lips as he could hear Weasley hiss in pain… 

And then the situation got interesting.

They struggled against each other for domination. Draco's fingernails were digging into Weasley's back as Weasley sunk his teeth brutally into the blond's left earlobe. The Slytherin could feel one of Weasley's arms enclose around his waist and draw him against him tightly as the Gryffindor's other hand raked through his silky silver-blond hair. Then, without warning, the redhead seized the Malfoy's hair firmly (tighter than Draco had done to him… prick) and pulled it back, exposing more of his slender and pale throat, which he soon attacked; the redhead's teeth and lips tracing rigorously down the cold, smooth flesh and across the curve of his willowy collarbone. He could feel Weasley's hot breath against his neck and Draco loathed the way the Gryffindor's mumbled, husky words raised a genuinely contented moan from him.

"You're so bloody gorgeous…"

He should have been fighting for control. He should have been pushing Weasley off of him then jumping the sexy fuck himself. And although he was pissed with himself for not being the more dominant party (as Lucius had only too often schooled him to be) Draco was too busy craving to get rid of all of Weasley's irksomely restraining clothes to reprimand himself too viciously.

He snaked his hands between their bodies and grabbed the opening of Weasley's robes, literally ripping them away then sitting up to tug fiercely at the maroon jumper that was hindering he Slytherin from the naked chest he'd been fantasising about for longer than he could really remember. Their lips were unwillingly pulled off each other as Weasley hurriedly pulled the offending piece of clothing from him, practically tangling himself within the sleeves in his hurry before finally extracting it then throwing it to the ground. He then motioned to the Slytherin but the blond had frozen. Draco didn't know how long he was gawping at the boy, but he knew one thing; Weasley really was absolutely fucking spectacular.

And it was Draco's turn to pounce. 

Grabbing his redhead's bare waist, he pulled him fervently into his arms, falling back onto the bed as Weasley fell on top of him, his blue eyes wide with lust and amusement. Even through hungry kisses and his possessing a mind that currently resembled a fanatical blur, the Slytherin still managed to reclaim his rightful place by steering the two joined bodies into rolling until he was on top. He then, still straddling the Gryffindor, broke the kiss and clearly heard Weasley's angry, though soft, groans for more. Draco couldn't keep himself from grinning wickedly. This was the way it should be. With him on top and Weasley simply begging him for more. 

He _was_ a Malfoy after all…

"Weren't you the one who called me a pansy-arse, Weasel?" Draco smirked with mounting breathlessness, shifting about on Ron's bare abdomen teasingly. The Gryffindor scowled up at him with that adorable pout as his eyes narrowed. However, Draco could see the redhead was still getting very aroused by the Slytherin's movements as his breath shuddered fiercely.

"Bug… bugger… just go bugger yourself, M-Malfoy…" 

That sexy bastard. Draco smiled alluringly and then leaned down towards the redhead's ear, whispering in a soft and very lustful voice.

"I'd rather you do it for me, Weasley."

Then, with reflexes like a cat, he slammed against the boy, pinning his wrists to his sides and smiling wickedly down at his struggling, enthusiastic Gryffindor. With an almost chaste press upon his mouth ('almost' because Draco Malfoy could never be chaste), Draco soon moved his lips to tease at Weasley's warm chest, feeling the erratic beating of his redhead's heart against his mouth as he trailed his tongue to join the endearing freckles on his salty sweet torso. He finally nuzzled his face almost playfully in the boy's toned stomach, causing Weasley to whimper lightly and arch his back to the touch. The Slytherin's hands moved from Weasley's hips and greedily attacked his belt as his tongue still explored his navel in utmost detail. In fact, it was only the whisper like call of his name that halted the boy in his tracks.

"Draco…?" 

He flicked his eyes up at his redhead, his lips frozen upon Weasley's abdomen. Weasley was gazing down at him with startlingly hungry, heavy-lidded blue eyes and was breathing sharply through slightly parted lips, his chest heaving with his deep exhales. He licked his lips nervously between deep breaths and gulped with endearing fear. It was pretty obvious that this was a first for him. Draco kissed his stomach lightly, his tongue flicking over the salty taste of Weasley's stomach as his silver eyes bore into the Gryffindor's; smiling seductively against the redhead's sweat-soaked skin. And that was when he did it. That was when Weasley nodded his head softly, his eyes wide and his body trembling, his puckered bottom lip bit. Fuck, he really was a vision.

It was then when Draco realised that all he ever wanted in the world was this boy in front of him, offering himself. 

And it was then that Draco stopped.

His hands tensed, then released their grip on the belt and he stepped away, an expression of mortification on his face. Weasley sat up, his striking face looking up at him questioningly as he lifted himself up onto his elbows. Draco's trembling caused the Gryffindor to automatically stand up and motion both awkwardly and concernedly towards him but the Slytherin stepped back from Weasley's outstretched arms, dodging his embrace. He was trembling with complete and utter fury.

"I'm not a fucking queer," his snarling voice said shakily. "You're not going to make me queer, Weasley. I'm not going to join you and your bloody club of shirt lifting queens." 

Weasley stopped dead. He looked as though the Whomping Willow had just punched him hard in the stomach. His mouth dropped open and for a few seconds he looked as though he was never going to speak again. However, it only took a matter of time for him to revert back to normal; his normally trembling, scarlet-faced and utterly pissed off expression. 

Uh-oh. 

He was shaking so violently that he looked as though his fiery head was going to explode any minute. He was _so _angry that he looked like he was in actual pain as he stepped forward, causing Draco, against his egotistical nature, to actually stepped back in real trepidation. He couldn't mistake those furious tears in Weasley's eyes. 

"You, you… you're such a… you're so… you're so far back in the closet that, that… that you're in fucking Narnia!" he spat out in trembling fury. Draco, feeling oddly guilt-ridden (fuck, that was a bad sign) opened his mouth to say something but the redhead had already grabbed at the remains of his robes and his maroon jumper and skilfully managed to manoeuvre his elbow to bash the Slytherin right in the stomach as he bolted passed the boy and slammed out the door. The second hinge on the door creaked slowly from Weasley's rage and, no more than a second later, the heavy oak door crashed to the floor with ground-trembling force. Still keeling over on the floor and now covered with the dust the door had shot all over him when it had impacted, Draco thought that he had dealt with that situation all wrong. 

Shit. 

Now, not only was he the most turned on he'd ever been in his life, but he had no idea what the heck Narnia was. Fucking Weasley with his muggle-loving and their inside jokes… 

With a pained sigh, the Slytherin looked down at himself as he attempted to stand but then stopped halfway in mortification. 

Ah, bollocks. 

He _really_ needed to have another shower.


	14. Still Straight

**_You won't admit you're homo._**

**_And so, how am I ever…_**

**_To know?_**

**_You always tell me_**

**_"No way, no way… Am I gay"_**

**Ron – You Won't Make Me Cry**

He didn't know where he was going. And to be honest, he really couldn't care.

Just as long as he was away from Malfoy.

Just miles and hours and buggery oceans away from him. He wasn't even paying attention as he slammed violently back down the halls, practically sprinting in his haste to just get away.

He just wanted to forget.

He squeezed his wet eyes shut tightly as he continued to thunder along. He felt the occasional impact as he slammed against the sporadic, unsuspecting student and was also pretty sure he'd knocked a bunch of terrified-looking first years clean to the ground when he had smashed passed. But he didn't care. At that moment, he wouldn't have cared if he ploughed down You-Know-Who himself, although he did open his eyes just to make sure…

But there was a fat load eyesight did when tears blinded his.

Blurry portraits and students rushed passed him like freaky jelly like objects as he continued to hurry. He could feel their many eyes following his every move, curious whispers following his path as he sensed the invisible points and raised eyebrows. He knew they weren't blind. He knew they'd notice his red eyes, though the tears hadn't fallen and he guessed that even the stupidest Slytherin around could decipher that look on his red face. He tried to focus on his path again, forcing himself to regain some composure although he soon realised that every one of those hazy shapes were a livid and rather pissed-off red.

He stumbled clumsily up the stairs, having no idea how he'd actually managed to get to the top as he continued to quicken. His eyes began to prick irritably again as he swiped viciously at them with the back of his clenched hand.

No. He wouldn't let this happen.

He gritted his teeth so painfully he was almost sure he could taste blood seeping out from his gums.

He wouldn't cry. He couldn't… he _wouldn't_ ever let Malfoy make him cry. He would never let the bastard have the satisfaction of breaking him.

He needed to exercise this anger out of him before he hurt someone. He needed to run.

And so he did.

Up those left hand stairs. Passed the Portrait leading into the Kitchens. Down the Charms corridor. By the statue of the one-eyed witch. Passed Sir Cadogan's portrait (_'You dare to pass a noble knight with such hostility? Stand and fight, coward!_). Left, right, up and down he went. Feeling nauseous, exhausted and still more pissed off than should have been allowed. He gulped in a ragged breath as he turned sharply into another corner, feeling the sweat trickling down his back, his entire body ablaze with both anger and physical exertion.

He turned so fast and so inelegantly that he very nearly collided head on with Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who both shrieked, dropped their books and leapt out of his way. Too breathless and aching to even manage a lame apology, he turned painfully into the next and very familiar Gryffindor corridor, his legs feeling like lead. Clutching an agonising stitch in his side, he slowed clumsily down in front of the all too recognisable portrait of the Fat Lady then put his other palm flat against the wall for support. Wheezing loudly to get his breath back then leaning his sweat-soaked back against the stone cold wall, Ron soon figured that all that running didn't help at all. He still wanted to both shoot and screw Malfoy's brains out. Bugger it all.

"Password?"

"Gobble…. Gobblede… Gobbledegook!" Ron managed between sharp breaths, still clutching his stitch and grimacing.

The Fat Lady's eyes widened as she eyed the state of the Gryffindor and she especially observed the sweaty, dishevelled appearance with utmost disapproval.

"Oh my! What on earth happened to you?"

"GOBBLEDE-FUCKING-GOOK!"

"Well, I never…!" The Fat Lady's chins wobbled indignantly as she swung open so vehemently that the door hit Ron right on the nose and knocked him back several feet. Growling as he rubbed his injury and grumbled obscenities under his breath, Ron stamped into the noisy common room in an even fouler mood.

Inside, Fred and George were feigning innocent looks and offering a silver tray full off entrées to a group of wary second years in the corner, angelic grins on their faces. On the other side of the room, Seamus had whispered God knows what in Ginny's ear to cause the red-faced redhead to clip him around the ear before slamming out the Portrait Hole, an observing Dean laughing hysterically all the while. But Ron ignored all this (and the people bursting into feather all around him) as he stormed his way over to the table at the back and the roaring fireplace. Maybe if he was lucky he'd fall in. Or maybe he'd try whatever Fred and George were trying to force onto those politely declining girls. In fact, Ron was so preoccupied with his thoughts on the greatest possible method of doing himself in (preferably nice and painless, he wasn't a fan of pain…) that he didn't even notice that Hermione was working flat out on the table right by the hearth. It was only when she started to mutter to herself about some problem that Ron jumped, turning to look at her.

"No, no, no… it's the Decree of 1678 that states that 'One must not eat their fellow wizard…' not the Decree of 1687…"

Hermione was barely visible through one of the few gaps of her dangerously high piles of books. Sheets of parchment were scattered all over her desk and stationary of every type was strewn atop the tabletop. When she finally noted his presence and looked up at him, Hermione automatically obtained an extremely bothered look in her eye and a tight-lipped expression. Her hair was even bushier than usual with her running her hand through it in frustration and Ron noticed that her quill was quivering slightly with nerves in her hand. Damn. He had forgotten how close their mock O.W.L.s were. He hadn't even finished class homework let alone started O.W.L. revision.

Hermione, who looked agitated enough as it was, gave him a look of complete exasperation and then produced a huff that could have rivalled his mother's as she took in his appearance. All she needed was the apron and the likeness would have been uncanny.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Ron! Have you been fighting _again?_"

Fighting? Ron's face scrunched with confusion as the severe colour on his face began to drain slightly. Fighting? When was he ever…?

Oh. Yeah. That prick. He scowled. He'd forgotten how violent Malfoy had been with him.

Ron raised a finger to his lip and winced bitterly, as not only did his lip sting but his fingertip returned with a vivid smear of blood. Hermione, as she very often did, continued irritably as she shook her bushy head in vexation.

"Honestly! How are you going to get anywhere in the Wizarding World if you don't apply yourself? These exams are very important and can plan out your entire future. Look at Percy…"

Ron, who was far from in the mood for this, was about to grouchily tell her that if Percy was the result of what constant studying achieved, he'd rather go marry the cross-breed of a blast-ended skrewt and a spider when Hermione suddenly stopped. She went slightly pale as she dropped her quill, her eyes widening as she examined her friend's face. And she must have been worried. She just blotted the Transfiguration essay she had spent the last two weeks writing.

"Ron, have… have you been crying?"

Damn it. Bugger his eyes for watering all the bloody time!

He was not going to cry. And there was no way he wasn't going to cry in front of Hermione, of all people! But he had to speak. She was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes. He opened his mouth to say something but just a hoarse grunt escaped from his throat. What was he supposed to say? 'No, Hermione, I haven't been crying but I'm very pissed off because I just made out with Malfoy, who happened to turn me away before I could get the chance to shag him blind'?

He suddenly felt very nauseated at the thought of it. God, he knew he could be thick at times but how could he have let this to happen?

He must have paled or gone green because Hermione actually stood up, permitting the ink on the nib of her quill to seep through the paper and into the tabletop underneath.

"Oh Ron… what is it?"

But he wasn't listening to her. He clutched his churning stomach and gulped down a bitter taste. He was going to throw up. He was sure of it.

"I-I… I've gotto go…"

How he managed to hoarsely say that without heaving all over Hermione, Ron never knew. He turned on his heel and ran cross the room with his hand over his mouth before Hermione could suggest a health book for him to read or for him to visit Madam Pomfrey. He sprinted up the stairs towards the Fifth Year boys' dormitory, ignoring Canary Neville's concerned chirrup of whether he was 'Ok' while Fred and George's voices roared with laughter.

"Yeah! Ron tried one of the 'Spew-Stimulating Starters'! Told you we put enough Flobberworm Mucus in it, George! Only 13 Sickles for a box of ten! Bargain!"

Ignoring the faint voices downstairs as he bolted his way up to the landing, Ron practically kicked the door off its hinges in his haste, and in doing so ended up painfully stubbing his big toe on the hard wood. Hopping about on one foot towards the bathroom, wincing and trying hard not to swear loudly in case the movement of his mouth induced him to throw up all over his roommates' beds, Ron made faint whimpering muffled noises into his hand.

Clumsily reaching the bathroom by frantic and ridiculous-looking hopping, Ron gripped the edge of the sink with one hand, tore his other hand away from his mouth and then heaved so violently into the basin that you could have sworn that the Gryffindor was belching out slugs again. Which, mid retch, reminded him that that had been caused by that bastard Malfoy, too.

He tightened his fingertips around the sides of the porcelain sink while he tiredly coughed and choked and retched loudly for several full minutes. He then emerged pale and sweaty, shakily wiping his mouth with the back of his suddenly heavy hand. Ron blinked his leaden eyelids up blearily at his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

He looked bloody awful. Clammy, pale, exhausted, bruised and bleeding.

Groaning as he averted his blue eyes, he used his remaining strength to turn on the cold-water tap and rinsed out his mouth; making the occasional gargling noises he'd always made whether he was five years old and naughtily using Mr Weasley's muggle mouthwash without asking or fifteen years old and trying to wash Draco Malfoy out of his system. But not even vomiting his insides out could get the Slytherin's saccharine-like tang off his lips, burning inside his mouth like some venomous acid. And not even Ron's absolutely fierce hatred for the little prick at that moment could stop him from licking it off his tingling lips with the tip of his tongue. Bugger the bastard for tasting so bloody good… And bugger himself for not being pickier about his tastes.

Tearing himself from the basin, Ron hobbled his way back out the bathroom and into the main dormitory. Pausing to lean against the doorframe for a second in his fatigue, Ron looked around the room as it faded in and out of black in his exhaustion. There was his bed, next to Harry's. Nice, comfortable and a place where he could just curl up and disappear.

Nice.

Ron shuffled his feet and edged towards it, crawling onto his soft four-poster bed on his hands and knees then melodramatically collapsing flat onto it. He buried his face fiercely into his pillow.

Ron Weasley never was any good at dealing with rejection.

He hadn't been when his mother had said he was too young and irresponsible to go visit Charlie in Romania alone and he hadn't been when he'd thrown a tantrum after both Fleur Delacour and Hermione had refused to go to the Yule Ball with him. He knew it was his temper and his lack of self-confidence that made everything ten times worse. Yeah, he noticed these things. He wasn't stupid or anything, despite what people thought. He knew that if he wasn't so damn insecure about himself he could deal with never being number one and never being chosen for anything above other people. He knew that if his best friends weren't so damn perfect and talented he could take those little slights on his character. He knew that if he didn't have those stupid freckles, that giant nose of his and his lanky, awkward frame he wouldn't care that some relatives had to ask his name. And he knew if he didn't have to buy everything second-hand and have to wear ugly, mouldy maroon dress robes he could deal with being the complete nonentity he was…

But what was he thinking? Of all the people in the world… _Malfoy?_ How could he be attracted to _Malfoy!?_

He groaned as he shifted his face deeper into the squashy padding. How could his body betray him like that? Switching from 'Punch Mode' to 'Shag him now Mode' without even bloody telling him first? How could he have left himself completely open like that? How could he have been so stupid as to let the git see his weakness? Damn, the prick _was_ his weakness!

There was no doubt in his mind that Malfoy was going to take advantage of this. The Slytherin bastard had probably planned it all just to humiliate him. Making him fall for his looks, his utterly, infuriatingly sexy smirk… It was just another Malfoy jibe at the insignificant little poor boy to make him like feel even more of the rejected nobody he was…

But seriously, who the heck was Malfoy trying to kid? Him? Not gay?!

Ron snorted contemptuously.

It was so fucking obvious! The way he dressed and that camp walk of his… And he flicked his head more than any girl that Ron had seen! And bugger that slimy little bastard for trying to make Ron all grossed out about his own sexuality! It wasn't like this was easy for him either. He still wasn't even sure what was going on. He couldn't be gay. He liked girls. He had liked Fleur, he had a childish crush on Hermione and, like all straight men, he drooled openly over Veela. But none of them, not even Hermione, could make him feel what Malfoy did with one look.

Ron shuddered when he thought about the reactions of others to his new discovery. What would his family say (after they came to)? What would Harry and Hermione say? Ron groaned. Oh, he knew exactly what Hermione'd say. She had already read to him all about those horrible tests they preformed on homosexual Wizards during You-Know-Who's time and about the mass persecution of these 'Undesirable' citizens of the magical community. Not only did it make Ron so angry that people could be so vindictive but it also set off Hermione on setting up L.E.E.C.H (for the Liberation and Emancipation Enabling Closet Homosexuals). Ron remembered how much she began to badger everyone about being open-minded and for them not to be ashamed about expressing their true feelings for one another. She drove Harry up the wall by telling him that he shouldn't let his fame stop him from 'coming out' and he was practically crying with exasperation for her to leave him alone and pick on someone else. This only encouraged her further to think that Harry was in terrible denial and to jot down his details into a file. Ron grunted bitterly. If she'd only known that she was picking on the wrong best friend. He cringed to think of the field day she'd have if she found out that not only was he attracted to a guy, but that one guy was Malfoy… (_'I knew it! I knew that violent hate foundation was always uncontrolled lust! And now you can set a perfect example for a happy gay couple! …Well, granted that it's Malfoy… Wait here for a minute, I need to check this out in the library…'_)

"Ron… are you alright?"

Harry. Ron didn't hear him come in. He squashed his face deeper into the pillow, hoping against hope that he would suffocate before Harry ever knew the truth and wishing that his closest friend would suddenly just Disapparate out the room (_"How many times do I have to tell you, Ron?! You can't Disapparate inside Hogwarts!"_)

Whatever.

He could hear a nervous pawing of a foot on the floor as his best friend continued. "Err… it's just that Hermione was worried about you. She said you were ill and uh… that you looked upset…" Harry finished off his sentence very uncomfortably. Considering that he could still hear the nervous pawing on the ground, Ron supposed Harry hadn't disappeared.

There was a very pregnant pause before the tentative voice spoke again.

"Ron…?"

Damn, why couldn't Harry just go away? Couldn't he see that he didn't want to talk? Couldn't he see that he'd never been more ashamed, more mortified and more confused in his whole entire life? Ron squeezed his eyes so tightly that he could see greenish patterns dancing on the inside of his eyelids.

"Harry, just… just leave me alone for a minute, ok…?" Ron stammered, trying to keep his muffled voice from breaking. He could practically see the look of puzzled concern on his best mate's face, as well as a good mixture of hurt. He usually hated hurting his friends and turning them away but Ron just wasn't in the mood for a sympathetic ear. He wanted a punching bag. And he didn't want it to be Harry.

There was another pause, in which Ron was sure Harry was thinking about what to say. Ron smiled dryly when he realised that Harry was as uncomfortable with Ron's tears as Ron was with his. After a while, Harry had finally decided on articulating;

"Are… are you going to be ok?"

Ron lifted up his red face from his pillow and turned it slightly to look at Harry, whose eyes were looking very bright and very concerned behind his glasses. Ron tried to manage a weak smile and a carefree shaking of his head.

"Blimey, Harry. You're acting like I'm dying or something! Just had one of Fred and George's weird 'exotic drinks' and figured never to accept anything from them again…" Ron strained to keep the painfully cheery smile on his face, which Harry slowly returned in relief. The redhead tried to shrug nonchalantly, though, despite himself, his voice broke slightly again. "Don't ever drink snake bile, Harry. It… it makes you puke your guts out."

* * *

**Draco – Malfoy Made a Mistake**

It was after he'd taken a second shower and was sitting hours later in his room when Draco Malfoy came to a reasonable conclusion.

He was an idiot. He was the biggest fucking idiot that ever was born.

He had Ron Weasley, the one thing… err, the one _arse_ that he wanted the most in the world, lying on that very bed out of his own free will and ready for a good amount of wall shaking and name screaming… and because of his stupidity that tight, fit arse was back in the castle, probably being groped by that mudblood bitch Granger.

Draco growled at the image.

He may have rejected him but he was still his property. Weasley was his, and only his to grope. And by God, he wanted to grope him right now. He wanted to clasp and mark and bite and hear those aggressive groans for more. He wanted to kiss those pouty, pissed off lips while they told him how much they hated him and how gorgeous they thought he was...

Fuck it.

How could he have honestly pushed away someone who not only looked so good but agreed that Draco was God's gift? How could he have been so dense that he put Crabbe and Goyle to shame? Now he was left all alone in the bloody Shrieking Shack with his usually cool feelings in complete disarray and left so painfully turned on that he was afraid to look down. He squeezed his grey eyes shut. Jesus, how could anyone have such an affect on him? How could a ghastly Gryffindor make him, a Malfoy, lose control like that? And it wasn't the first time he'd done it either. Everything about Measly Weasley stirred something within him that it shouldn't.

Fucking Weasley.

**_You wish you were though, don't you?_** An annoying little voice somewhere at the back of his head hissed.

Hell yes.

**_… You're not supposed to agree…_**

But Draco stopped listening. He snapped open his suddenly bright eyes with a look of unexpected realisation on his face. Wait a minute…

He wanted Weasley, and he wanted him right now. And he always got what he wanted. This wasn't about gay, straight or bi… He wasn't anything (and he definitely wasn't gay). He was just Draco, which was more than fucking good enough. And Draco was desperately, excruciatingly horny.

Weasley was just a place to plant it. Weasley was just a hole; no gender, no feelings, no anything. It was just sex. Mindless sex. And the Slytherin needed to get laid.

So why was he still standing there and talking to himself about it? And where the fuck was his invisibility cloak?

**_But… but he's a boy…_** His mind spluttered in shocked disapproval as Draco slammed open his trunk and rummaged frenziedly until he finally found what he was looking for. He threw the silvery, fluid-like cloak impatiently around his shoulders as he shivered with anticipation. The more the Slytherin thought about the end of his journey, the more excited he got. Weasley… bed… fondling…

And as for him being a boy…

_No he's not._ Draco answered crisply, glimpsing momentarily at the mirror over the fireplace to check his appearance. God, he was a sexy git, in spite of just his head floating in mid air. There was no way Weasley could refuse him, even if he was still pissed about that afternoon. Draco smirked. And even if Weasley _did _refuse, it was hardly like the Slytherin was going to heed the rejection and back off. Once he'd made up his mind nothing could stop him, especially not 'Poor Gryffindor Boy' Weasley.

Fumbling through his robe pockets in uncharacteristic eagerness for his wand, Draco finally found it in his inside pocket and hastily muttered "Lumos…" to light the end. The thin beam looked like a laser as his every excitable move in the darkened room caused it to jump and flicker. In fact, Draco was so atypically giddy that he would even go so far as to hum merrily and skip gaily out the Whomping Willow …

Wait... No. Not gaily. _Never_ gaily. He didn't do anything gaily. He was the very image of masculinity and sophistication. The Slytherin caught himself mid-pirouette and walked out the front door with his head held high and strutting so stiffly in an effort of manliness that he felt as though he had broken his hip bone with the added exertion.

Oh, he was going to get that sexy motherfucker for making him skip like a girl. He was going to get him so hard that Weasley was never going to be able to walk straight again.

And that was all Draco was thinking about. He didn't care that he was breaking every rule that Dumbledore had set up for him and specifically told him to follow for his own safety. He didn't care that someone could easily bump into him or that he might lose his footing, his invisibility cloak falling off in the process... He didn't care about any of these things as he practically ran through the tunnel, out the Willow, across the lawns, passed the lake and through the entrance doors.

Draco Malfoy was horny, and nothing could beat that. And even as he walked quietly down the empty, torch-lit and shadowy halls of Hogwarts, Draco still only had his libido on his mind.

So now… where the fuck was the Gryffindor tower…? Or, even more appropriate, Weasley's bed? Draco smiled with the explicit images at the very thought of it and his eager footsteps quickened towards the Great Hall.

Alright, he could think straight, even with his arousal practically crippling him. The Gryffindors always came from that direction so if he just crossed the hall to there he would find… Aha. A staircase. And Weasley never looked flushed when he arrived for his Charms class so it couldn't be too far from here… Right, the Slytherin recognised this passageway. He'd followed the redhead without even knowing and ended up here on a number of occasions. So, that meant that the Gryffindor corridor should have been somewhere along here… Wow. He really was so good that he even sometimes astonished himself. Who would have known that stalking Weasley would have been so helpful? So left, around the corner… right, up those steps, ahead, about to turn to the left fork and…

"Can't you just let me in? Please…?" the echo of a pleading, teary voice sounded from what he supposed was the Gryffindor corridor – the right fork. He stepped back to peer through the right hallway. Damn those stupid torches, he couldn't see who it was… but they sounded teary. No one but a Gryffindor could be that pathetic (wait, scrap that. Hufflepuffs were just fucking wimps).

But shit. There were people still awake. And he suddenly remembered that he couldn't be seen. Not even Weasley was worth getting caught and being sent gift-wrapped back to Lucius. Draco, panicking slightly, pulled the cloak tighter about himself and quietly snuck around the corner. He bit his lip, squeezing his eyes tightly as he tentatively continued to creep against the walls and towards the cowardly owner of the voice. Fuck it. Who the heck was making him creep around like a burglar at this time of night? And why couldn't they get the hell in?

"Certainly not!" a sleepy but firm voice answered back from a tasteless painting of an obese pink woman as Draco crept closer still. He wrinkled his invisible nose at it in disgust; he loathed pink. "I am not permitted to let anyone in the Gryffindor Tower without the password…"

With a shuffle of his feet, Draco peered and noticed her huge bosom rising importantly as she looked in tired, tart disapproval at… oh, why the heck didn't he guess?

"But I forgot the password…!" said Neville Longbottom desperately as the Fat Lady's eyelids drooped and her chin fell onto her chest for about a second before she roused herself up again. Draco, in all his invisible observance, smirked delightedly.

_Worth ten of me, Longbottom? Well, my, my… you certainly do eat that way…_

No, he still hadn't forgiven that little retort in their first year. Draco hardly forgave anything. And no, it wasn't petty. It was the build up of a super arch-villain to Potter.

A gleeful cackle suddenly pierced through the trouble-filled air and Draco, being rather sharp for someone so arrogant, didn't have to guess who it was. Peeves the Poltergeist had floated up from the lower floor through the stone ground and, with one look, Longbottom froze as still as a statue, looking up at the floating Peeves in front of him with a look of abject terror on his round face. Peeves's wicked face leered down at the cowering boy with a look of a cat cornering a fugitive canary. And a giant snore told him the Fat Lady had gone back to sleep again.

Pressing himself against the wall to avoid impact, Draco tried not to revel in Longbottom's misery, especially seeing that he was still trying to fantasise about all the lewd and perverse things he was going to do to Weasley… but it was about as hard as he was. And although a giant part of him (yes,_ that _part) was hoping that the idiot would just remember the fucking password already and let him in to molest his redhead, he couldn't stop his naturally cruel self from grinning as evilly as the poltergeist.

"Good evening, Fat-bottom," said Peeves pleasantly, his eyes gleaming maliciously. Longbottom, who knew not to trust the façade, smiled in pained nervousness.

"Err… hello Peeves…" he squeaked cautiously. Draco watched as though a Muggle enraptured by a television show.

"Forgotten the password?" Peeves asked in a silkily sweet voice that was carrying his ever-present playful tone. "Want Peevesy to whisper it in your ear?" From the look on his wicked face, the poltergeist looked as though he would scream a very rude word in Longbottom's ear instead, and the podgy Gryffindor looked as though he would rather propose to Snape on bended knee than have Peeves anywhere near him.

"Uh… it's ok, really…!" a pale Longbottom yelped hurriedly, stepping clumsily rearward until his back hit against the Fat Lady's picture and Draco heard an indignant, muffled cry from the portrait. Peeves wasn't listening, though, as he continued.

"I should, you know. After all, is my duty to help a student in need, it is…" Peeves feigned saintliness but it was hardly believable when his eyes glittered like that… And as much as the Slytherin enjoyed seeing any Gryffindor in pain (especially Weasley), he was starting to get impatient. Why didn't that stupid poltergeist just give Longbottom a wedgie then go? He needed to plant it in Weasley and he needed to do it _now._

It seemed as though Longbottom's clumsiness finally roused the Fat Lady and, rubbing her eyes heatedly, she was about to scold the boy when she spotted Peeves. She blinked, blinked again… then went red in the face, looking absolutely outraged by his audacity to be in her presence.

"What on earth do you think you're doing here? You've been banned from this corridor!"

If possible, Peeves's smile grew even nastier. Draco held his breath, and tried not to hold other areas, as he prayed that someone would soon just open the door. He would personally rip the portrait from the fucking wall with his bare hands if they didn't hurry soon…!

The Fat Lady's arrival in the conversation didn't perturb the poltergeist; in fact, it seemed to give him more ammunition.

"Oh, look, it's the Fat Lady…!" the mischievous spirit screeched loudly, making both Longbottom and Draco wince, though the latter was permanently wincing in his critical condition. As Draco gritted his teeth, Peeves began to perform a number of tricky flips and cartwheels then mooned them all for his grand gymnastics finale. And, to the Slytherin's great infuriation, he didn't finish there. "Be better if they said the Ginormous lady…! Or the Flabby, Scabby Crabby Lady…!" Peeves began to look at the two visible occupants, from one to the other in pure malice, thoroughly enjoying the mayhem he was causing. "Nice couple you two make, you do… Peevesy's made a song, just for you…! Fat Bottom and Lady sitting in a tree… then it breaks! Wheeeeeeeeeeee!"

Right. This was getting fucking ridiculous. Draco was just about to barge passed them all, suddenly not caring about Lucius, DeathEater's, trees or anything but violently screwing Weasley's brains out when a look of realisation dawned on Longbottom's round face and he suddenly cried out,

"Gobbledegook!"

"Finally!" the Fat Lady cried out in relief and the door swung open. Peeves, looking thoroughly put out by Longbottom's hasty exit, shrugged and drifted away through the opposite wall singing,

"What a Fat Bottom Longbottom has gotten…"

It seemed that the Fat Lady was no fun by herself and even Draco had heard about what McGonagall said would happen to Peeves if he dared enter the tower again. If the Slytherin could have whooped, he would have but his impression of a penguin was doing him just fine as he painfully followed an eager Longbottom into the common room. Ordinarily, Draco would have looked around the place, slagged off the Gryffindor's for having more space and warmth than the Slytherins because of their fucking Muggle-loving but now he was too busy following Longbottom as quietly as he could up the stairs to the boys' dormitory to think up complex name calling.

And follow the chubby boy he did. Up the stairs, landing… more stairs… another landing… left… Fuck! Were they trying to draw out this torture just to make him suffer? He wanted to growl at Longbottom to hurry up, he wanted to push him fiercely and tell him to lead him at that very second to Weasley's bed… but he had to be conspicuous. If Longbottom felt an invisible push, he'd eventually put two and two together, no matter how long it took the thick shit. So Draco did the thing he hated most to do; he waited. He waited until they reached another landing, a small flight of stairs (Bastard Gryffindors! They've got velvet and bloody mahogany…) and then until Longbottom finally pushed open a door, which the blond caught with a flash reading, 'Fifth Years'. The Slytherin had to do a nimble side step to get into the pitch-black room before the fat pipsqueak could lock him out. He was sure that anyone else would have heard his muffled footsteps and thanked God he'd run into Longbottom. If it were Potter… Draco sneered. He would rather screw the boy than ever admit that Snitch Boy could catch him out (and that was saying something).

Jesus… all this hassle just for a fuck. All this for a fuck with Weasley. Damn, all this for a fucking Weasley…!

_No,_ he reminded himself. All this for a hole.

Draco lifted his head and scanned his eyes through the black. On impulse his fingers wrapped around his wand but doing 'Lumos' here would only cause suspicion. Stupid Gryffindors. He'd have to bloody feel his way around and use the sparse light from the moon to guide his way. Draco could hear Longbottom looking through his trunk and deciding that he'd rather not see him strip into his teddy bear pyjamas, he walked quietly forward, feeling suddenly very aware of his surroundings. Jesus. Not only had he snuck into the school illegally but he was in the Gryffindor boys' dorms. What if someone caught him? What if Longbottom, being the oaf he was, walked into him? What if Potter got him in trouble? How the fuck would he explain himself out of it? And what the heck would Dumbledore say…? However, all his thoughts soon disappeared to God knows where when he followed the moon rays to a pillow.

A pillow containing the resting red head of Ronald Weasley, sexy bastard and sleeping beauty in his own right.

Draco stood silently next to the Gryffindor's bed, looking down at him like the redhead was some wondrous, glowing beacon. The moonlight was playing on his features, making his face glow silver as his lips curled to a little frown in his sleep, his eyes tightly closed as he rested his freckled cheek on the flat back of his hand.

He looked so pure. So innocent. So cliché with him lying right underneath the beams of the moon. Draco grinned. He also looked very corruptible.

With a naughty smile on his lips, Draco closed himself into the bed by drawing his side of the curtains, dropped his cloak to the floor, then he raised his wand and whispered "Sealus Silencio". With a perverse lick of his lips, Draco was about to promptly jump on top of his sleeping Weasley when he looked down and froze.

Weasley was awake and staring up at him with those wide and shocked eyes. He looked paler in the silvery light, his mouth open slightly in his surprise. He lifted the sheets up to his chin almost protectively, his expression slowly changing from surprise, to slight apprehension and lastly, to outrage. Then, he abruptly sat up and dropped his sheets from his chin in a very angry fashion. Draco tried not to groan. Great, he just had to sleep topless, didn't he? And the hoary light just had to catch his muscles in the most flattering way, didn't it? Weasley was shaking his almost haloed head in his shocked ire as Draco tried not to stare too eagerly.

"What the… what the heck are you doing here, Malfoy?" The question sounded more like surprised indignation at Draco's standing beside his bed and invading his privacy than anything else. Humph, and all this time Weasley was trying act as though he wasn't a poof! With his bright eyes and his voice so sexy when he was turned on…

Draco had to tell himself to stop acting like such a pillow biter before he continued. He came here for a fuck, and he was going to get one, willing Weasley or not. Forcing his perfected and irresistible smirk, in one fluid movement the Slytherin had clambered onto the bed, on top of Weasley and into his favourite position; the straddle. And with a further smirk, he noticed that Weasley didn't seem to mind at all. Damn, the boy looked like he'd frozen in his sitting position, his mouth still open in shock. Smiling wickedly, Draco lowered his blond head to kiss and nip at the curve of the redhead's throat, trailing his tongue down to his shoulder, which he promptly bit as he ran his flat palms down his warm chest. And to his great delight, he could feel Weasley shuddering against him.

It was only as Draco's hands began to slide inside the heat of the Gryffindor's pyjama bottoms when Weasley finally broke out of his trance.

"Malfoy, get… get the hell off me…!" he squeaked, though Draco noted, he was still doing nothing to push his ravenous self off. Ignoring his protests, Draco's hands plunged even lower as he began to lick on his freckled collarbone, causing the redhead to whimper and groan loudly. Oh yes, he had him. He'd won him. He'd submitted. Yielded. Succumbed to him. He'd surrendered and Draco was going in for a brutal conquer…

However, it was during his little self-righteous speech and his effort to look for words of victory that he felt two hands on his chest, pushing him away. Weasley was fucking pushing him, Draco Malfoy, away! The Slytherin shook his head. Oh no he fucking didn't. Not when it had taken him so long to get here. Draco grabbed the struggling wrists trying to shove him backwards and dug his impeccable fingernails into them as deeply as he could, latching on with leech like aggression, as Weasley growled in pain. Weasley, still struggling with all his might, was looking him directly in the eye with rage; it looked like they were doing some morbid type of ballroom dance "I sodding well said no, Malfoy! Geroff me!"

He thrashed about with such effort that Draco, knowing he couldn't hold him off for long, summoned his wand and cast the "Bindus" spell so swiftly that Weasley's face contorted in terror, not understanding what was going on. Thin, snake-like cords shot out the end of the Slytherin's wand and wrapped themselves so tightly around Weasley that the Gryffindor fell back down flat on the bed, muscles straining for freedom as he bellowed for help and struggled his little heart out.

Well, thank fuck for silencing spells.

It was almost like he was an observer just watching the scene, because before the blond even knew he was doing it, he'd flipped the boy onto his stomach with super human strength, muting out Weasley's desperate cries and struggles for him to stop. He pinned down the writhing redhead's shoulder blades fiercely with his elbow, digging bruisingly into Weasley's back as he was kissing, licking, biting and drawing blood frenziedly down his spine, pulling desperately at the Gryffindor's pyjama bottoms with his remaining free hand… But the bloody binding cords were in his way. If he could just get them off long enough to rip Weasley's trousers off he could…

Shit.

He stopped suddenly, his whirly blaze of lust slowly ebbing away as realisation sunk in. He could feel Weasley shuddering underneath his legs, but not with aggression. Fuck, his entire body was shivering and his breath was coming in sharp, almost sobbing pants. It was as though someone had suddenly flicked a switch to 'reality' inside the Slytherin's head and removed that blur of desire. Draco shakily dislodged himself from on top of the trembling Gryffindor and almost clumsily slid off the bed.

Jesus, what the fuck was wrong with him?

Weasley kicking and thrashing was about as sexy a thing as he'd ever seen but… shit. What exactly was he going to do? Rape him or something? Did he want to go to Azkaban?! He stood there for a while, not knowing what to do as Weasley's slowing pants rang through his ears. With a quivering voice, and realisation tasting heavy and bitter, Draco lifted his wand with a shaking hand and croaked.

"Swivelus Orbitus."

Weasley's bound and tied body immediately turned around onto his back with a soft thump. Draco was still holding his wand aloft in his trembling hand as their eyes locked. The redhead had alarm etched in every line of his ghost-like face. He seemed to have stopped breathing, his wide eyes looking up at Draco in absolute shock as the Slytherin watched the rope burns flake, sear and mark his tender wrists and torso. He'd have to cast those ropes away. He didn't want to hurt him or anything...

Draco groaned as soon as he thought that.

God, what was Weasley fucking doing to him? He always wanted to hurt him!

Draco stepped forwards to conjure away the binds but Weasley slammed back against the headboard, too busy watching Draco with wide eyes as he attempted to put as much space between them as possible.

Fuck it. He'd really blown it now. He was definitely the biggest fucking idiot in the world. Weasley wouldn't ever let him bugger him now. Jesus, the boy wouldn't let him anywhere near him again. He'd never get to feel that body against his again or his favourite part of Weasley banging him viciously against a wall or a bed or…

Why the fuck was Weasley looking at him like that?

Draco blinked to make sure he'd seen it but, after the fifth blink, there was no disguising it. There was a gradual stunned smile appearing on the redhead's dazed, pale face as his wide, glittering eyes looked up at Draco in astonishment.

"Blimey, Malfoy…"

What on earth…? It took Draco a second to register that look, and when he did, the Slytherin did a double take.

No. Fucking. Way.

The violent little prick enjoyed it! Weasley was gasping not with fear but desire! Draco wasn't sure whether to smirk with triumph or pass out in relief. Wait, Malfoy's didn't pass out. Well, he'd go for the former then.

And so what if he was still slightly dazed himself? You just didn't turn away a turned on Weasley.

Unable to control himself, Draco crawled sensuously back onto the bed on his hands and knees, a palm on either side of Weasley's head and a kneecap on either side of the redhead's hips as the excited looking Gryffindor looked up at him optimistically. Bending his silver head down, he could feel Weasley's breath tickling his lips, the redhead's hooded eyes now practically black with desire as they looked deeply into his. Draco grinned down at him.

"Liked that, Weasley?" he purred demurely, lowering his knees and his lower body teasingly on top of the Gryffindor's, causing friction on his way. He loved it when Weasley's breath went all ragged like that. The redhead could only nod eagerly as he arched forward to Draco's talented hips. Damn, he was a frisky little slut, wasn't he? Draco grinned again. And he was _his _frisky little slut. He didn't belong to anyone else but him. He owned every freckle, every pout, every curve…

Ronald Weasley was all his.

Leaning down, Draco caught his lips with his own, hearing a little whimper of pleasure escaping from his redhead's throat as Draco breathed deeply into the kiss. Swiping the tip of his tongue lightly over Weasley's bottom lip to indulge in his taste, the blond boy fiercely pulled the Gryffindor's warm, still-bound body tightly and snugly to his own. Draco closed his eyes, groaning softly as Weasley began to initiate the deft kissing by nibbling almost shyly at his lips before nuzzling his nose and eyelashes against the Malfoy's cheek. Draco knew it was a faggoty thing to say but he could honestly die happily this way. That is until…

"Malfoy! What the hell are you…? Jesus! Get the hell off of him!"

Ah, fuck it.

"Fuck off, Potter…" Draco snarled as Ron, to his annoyance, withdrew his lips in horror. Turning his head to face the voice, he saw Potter's messy black head sticking through his side of the curtains. Draco growled at him, never wishing more in all his life that Voldemort had just killed him. He was not giving this up, not now that he was so close and had made so much effort. "Just get permanently lost somewhere."

Potter pulled out his wand with such swiftness that Draco paled. However, instead of cursing him, the four-eyed prat waved it into the air and said, "Impetimenta Silencio."

Oh yeah, the silencing charm. Potter didn't hear a word of his slander. If he weren't Draco Malfoy, he would have felt really very stupid. However, before he could repeat his sneer, Potter answered coldly back.

"Make me, Malfoy." Oh, so he could lip-read. Talented fucking Potter. Could he still do that once Draco punched him so hard that the glass in his spectacles lodged into his eyes? Ron, still underneath Draco's body, pushed the Slytherin off him with a bang of his shoulder and sat up as best as he could in his condition, looking at his best friend with a pleading look. If Draco wasn't so pissed off with Weasley for pushing him off him then he would have laughed at how comical the redhead looked.

"Please, Harry, you'll wake everyone up!" Weasley hissed desperately.

Damn, even the way he did that was adorable. Potter's look of disgust completely changed once he looked at Weasley. Draco bared teeth. Fucking Potter. If he even thought about touching Weasley in that way he'd grab a fistful of that hair of his and…

"Ron…" Potter said weakly as he threw his friend a helpless look, looking extremely grossed out and worried. "This is Malfoy…"

The cheek of the bastard. He should have felt privileged to see two very hot looking guys making out. Draco was sure that there were thousands of people out there who would kill to be in Potter's position. Or better, Weasley's.

"Harry, don't you think I know that?" Weasley asked, blushing again in that sexy way he had. Draco couldn't stop himself from shifting closer to the redhead and sliding a hand up his thigh, to Potter's disgusted horror. He smirked evilly as Weasley embarrassedly though tersely continued, looking slightly peeved at his friend. "I don't go around snogging random people."

"He'd be dead if he did," Draco added truthfully, giving Potter a very warning look. The Boy Who Lived returned the look with just as much hate as he slowly shook his head.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to keep your word. Why should I have even trusted a Malfoy?"

What the heck was he…? Oh yeah. The deal. Draco smirked again. Making a deal with him was like selling your soul to the devil – you never get what you bargained for. However, at Potter's words, Weasley paled. He looked from one to the other as though suddenly seeing something that wasn't there. Draco could see the accusing, suspicious look he was giving him and before long, Weasley ears went pink and he had clenched his teeth. Now, why did Draco find it oddly satisfying that Weasley was jealous over him?

"Malfoy…?" The Weasel seemed to find it very difficult to speak. Draco wanted to chortle. Why the fuck should he admit the truth when this was great violent ammunition for their next tryst? Even though the thought of him and Potter grossed him out… He tried to shrug nonchalantly, all the while watching Weasley with lusty eyes that he hoped said 'Come on, teach me never to stray again…'

"I made a deal with Potter, too. What can I say? I get around. Now, if you'd kindly fuck off, Scarface, I'd like to screw Weasley in peace." Not even Draco could miss that look of almost childish excitement in Weasley's eye as he said this. He also couldn't miss the look of suddenly stubborn determination in Potter's.

"I won't let you." Draco blinked, as did Weasley. For a moment, the Slytherin thought that they were both ready to pound him furiously.

"Excuse me?" Draco drawled coldly as Weasley just spluttered incoherently. "I'd like to see you fucking stop me."

Potter crossed his arms, pursing his lips like a spoilt child.

"You'll only hurt him."

And Draco liked the look on Weasley's face while he was hurting him.

He raised a slender brow then turned to Weasley. Damn, how could he have never noticed that he had the most welcoming bedroom eyes ever? With a flirtatious smile at him, Draco turned as calmly as he could back to Potter.

"He doesn't seem to mind."

Potter rolled his eyes.

"I mean mentally, you pervert. You're only going to use him then dump him broken-hearted somewhere."

At these words, Weasley fell dramatically onto his bed with his face in his pillow, groaning in utmost humiliation. Hmmmm… Nice view of his rear…

"Oh... Harry, please shut up and go back to bed…" his muffled voice begged.

"Ron!"

Weasley lifted up his head, his face pained as he looked beseechingly at his best friend. Draco growled as the words 'best friend' entered his head. No fucking way was he going to let that one remain in tact…

"I'll talk to you in the morning, please, Harry..." Weasley pleaded, eyes wide. God, not even a straight man could resist that look. After all, Draco couldn't. Potter opened his mouth to say something but lost the urge and scowled. He looked irksomely from one to the other, and Draco could tell it was killing him not to say anything. __

_Yes, die Potter… die…_

"First thing in the morning," Snitch Boy muttered then turned around and stomped back to bed. However, just as the Slytherin grinned devilishly at his Weasel, manoeuvred himself so he was lying on top of him and began to lick at the shell of his ear, a voice suddenly squeaked,

"Um, Ron. Why… why is Malfoy in your bed?"

Oh, for fucks sake. What was this, a show? Draco spun his head around to glare piercingly at the chubby boy who was watching them from behind in awe. At his one glance, Neville Longbottom squeaked and ducked back under his covers.

Great, now Longbottom had seen him.

Draco groaned as he turned back to Weasley. Shit and fuck it all. Dumbledore really was going to _kill_ him.


	15. The Lurk of The Grim

_Yeay! I finally get to write a Hogwarts class… and my favourite one! Divination! Odd isn't it that this story is set in a school yet this is the first time we've seen Ron going to classes…? No wonder Hermione's always lecturing him about his O.W.L.S…;) Oh, and must dedicate this chapter to **scythefire** who actually cared enough to check that I hadn't caught some disease and disappeared off the face of the planet. Bless you!!!! :) And I also must thank Denny for the inspiration to rile me in a mood to convince all the Harry/Draco shippers that it is not the only slash couple that rock. Thanks for that, you really got me out of a writer's block. :) As usual, a huge hello to the peeps at the S.S. Prince and Pauper – love you all! And yes, am getting boring and repetitive again by saying a huge thanks to everyone who reviewed… each one really meant a lot, thanks! Please keep them coming. And sorry all if this chapter took too long to get here. Oh, have a tiny quotes from The South Park Movie and from Fight Club…      XxTasnimxX_

* * *

**Ron – Explanations in Divination**

"Ron…"

Damn. The redhead squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

"Harry, please… just go back to your cards…" 

"You said first thing in the morning." He could hear a bite of impatience in the other boy's voice.

"Yeah, well I know but… uh… it's nearly lunch now. Say, you think they'll give us Grindylow Pate again?"

"Ron!"

"Is there a problem with your readings, my dears?" Harry jerked his eyes up with a start to meet the enormous, bug-like ones of Professor Trelawney. They could both feel every pair of eyes in the place staring at them through the foggy, overly fumed and suddenly hushed room. Those bloody blinding fumes, the sweltering heat of the room and the stink of incense so concentrated that it would knock you out if you accidentally sniffed too hard, were intoxicating in the worst possible way as the two Gryffindors looked almost guiltily at each other. Ron could tell from her almost eager expression and the slight edge to her normally misty voice that Sybil Trelawney was hoping intently that there was some giant catastrophe afoot. Or maybe that one of them had suddenly mislaid a limb or something. Damn, the old bird was like a vulture circling around for a sniff of blood. _And an ugly looking one at that,_ Ron mused as people turned around in their pouffes and doll like seats. 

He shook his head at her expectant gaze and returned back to shuffling his tarot cards, not trusting himself to say anything in case he muttered a curse that certainly made no appearance in the Glossary at the back of _Unfogging the Future_. Harry also returned back to his cards, although also muttered bitterly in a voice a bit louder than he intended.

"Yeah, I have a problem. Mine don't tell me that I'm going to die a painful a gruesome death. There must be a malfunction or something." Ron, who wasn't in his usual spirits, actually managed to smile weakly as the rest of the class snickered and Seamus and Dean grinned widely from their front seats. Professor Trelawney did not look appeased with this answer as she pressed her lips tightly together. Yeah, she may have been a dizzy cow but even she could get Harry's meaning, especially since the dim twins Parvati and Lavender were scowling at him in disapproval. With a jangle of her many bangles, she readjusted her shawl as she practically floated her way towards them. Before either of them knew what she was doing, she squeezed shut those abnormally large eyes of hers and placed her shaking, hovering hand over the facedown deck then said "Accio", causing the top card to spring into her hand as though it was magnetised to her palm. Turning her hand with exaggerated ceremony so the card face faced her, she slowly smiled an almost smug smile, then laid it down in front of Harry as the rest of the class stood up off their seats and craned their necks to get a look at their round tabletop. The 'Death' card lay there in all its glory with an elaborate moving illustration of the Grim Reaper hitting a person, who looked uncannily like Harry, on the head repeatedly with a muggle baseball bat. 

"They seem in fine working order to me, Mr Potter. Perhaps this situation is reminiscent of the saying, 'A Poor Wizard blames his wand'?" Then, with a smile that was far less airy and more self-satisfied, she floated back to her desk, Lavender and Parvati watching her with pure adoration. Ron grumbled after her.

"Yeah, and her situation is reminiscent of 'A Fake Seer making it all up'. Stupid old bat." Harry rolled his eyes then turned to Ron.

"And just when I thought my day couldn't get any better," he said sarcastically. He nodded towards his card with the Grim Reaper still bludgeoning his counterpart. "I bet you she planted that there. I bet she carries it around with her in her tasselled purse as a good luck charm." Ron couldn't help but grin wryly at Harry's sour expression.

"Yeah, probably gets them custom made to have your face on em," he said, picking out one of his own cards. Harry joined in as he smiled lightly back at him.

"Or gets them from a Death Eater Souvenir Shop." With a snort as Ron thought about the types of merchandise you get in such a place (You-Know-Who World Domination Tour T-shirts and Dartboards with Harry's picture on them) the redhead eventually turned his card over. A redheaded youth, with a snake coiled almost sensuously around him, looked cockily back at him. 'The Deceiver'. He grimaced. Harry peered over his shoulder at the card then pursed his lips and shrugged, surprisingly looking as though he was trying not to laugh.

"Hey, maybe this isn't as big a load of crap as I thought it was." Ron scowled across at him.

"Shut up, Harry." But he suddenly stopped pouting to look wide-eyed at his friend. "Wait… you're… you're not angry?"

"Course I am. Don't be stupid, Ron. Like you're getting off so light, you ginger git," Harry said with a soft, almost affectionate smile, which slowly dissolved into a pained grimace, as though he were suddenly recalling the other night. He shuddered slightly, causing Ron to blush awkwardly and fidget with his cards again. The Boy Who Lived sighed morosely as he eyed Ron's distress then began in a lowered voice. "… I guess, well… I'm not going to pretend that I'm not more than slightly grossed out by all this… I mean, it's not everyday that you discover that your best friend's gay by finding him tied up in his bed with a Malfoy sucking his face off…but…you know, I did a lot of thinking last night and… well, you're my best friend and if you like him then…" Harry's reasonable, almost soothing voice suddenly disappeared as he dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "But God, Ron! Honestly… _Malfoy_…?!" Ron winced at the rush of disgust that progressed in Harry's voice as his friend emerged from his hands with a repulsed look on his face. "I mean… Jesus, what were you thinking?"

"I wasn't…!" Ron protested weakly, his burning face going crimson as he lowered it from Harry's frustrated gaze. "It just kinda… well… err, it just happened…" Harry shook his head in disbelief, his green eyes wide and confused. 

"What, in the middle of him insulting your family?" Ron didn't gamble to look up at him, especially since he knew his gaze would reveal that the actual situation was very similar to Harry's description. After a while, Harry sighed again, this time to regain his composure as he shakily raked his hand through his hair, almost as though he was telling himself that he was dealing with the situation all wrong. With a ragged sigh, and his hair even messier than usual, Harry turned to Ron with a defeated look.

"Do you like him?" he asked wearily, their readings completely forgotten. Ron slowly looked up, biting his lip like a wayward child who had just been scolded by his mother for doing something naughty. To his surprise, Harry had an encouraging look on his tired face, waiting patiently for his answer. The redhead shrugged, though his hands were trembling as he dropped his eyes back down to his card and to his shock, the snake winked saucily at him.

"I-I dunno… I mean… haven't you ever thought of him as… well, mysterious and uh… well, you know… kinda, uh… _sexy_?" He blushed uncomfortably and whispered the last word so quietly that Harry could barely hear it. Ron hazarded an awkward look up at his friend. Harry sensed his discomfort, sighed almost reassuringly then went back to his cards to spare Ron the embarrassment of being seen with a tomato red face, which the redhead greatly appreciated.

"Not really. I guess I was too busy seeing him as a ferret-faced arse more than anything else." Harry smirked softly and then suddenly gave Ron the kind of look so similar to Dumbledore's infamous, intense stares that Ron almost shivered, but that could be due to the strange and suddenly incessant tingling at the back of his neck. But still… Jesus, where did that look come from? Damn, sometimes he thought it was truly mind-boggling how powerful his friend was… "And I was also too busy not trusting him as far as I could throw him… and I still don't. _And_ you didn't answer my original question. Do you like him? I mean, _really_ like him?"

Ron turned slowly away from Harry's expectant gaze as his brow furrowed and a look of puzzlement ensued. Did he like him? He sure did fancy his pants off but did he actually like him as person? To be perfectly honest, he had no sense of control over himself when he was around Malfoy. He either wanted to beat the crap out of him or kiss his perfect little face off and he didn't even care to check if anyone was around, just as long as he could do it. And it was beginning to worry him exceedingly that he couldn't help thinking of him continuously then blushing stupidly when he realised _what exactly_ he was imagining Malfoy doing to him and to which parts of his anatomy. Every time he thought of the other night he wanted to both cringe and cross his legs because having a hard on in Divination was fatal. If Professor Trelawney noticed she would bring it to the attention of the class and would assure Ron that it was due to the erotic vibrations of her room, probing him to tell the class what exactly he Saw to make him so aroused… He shuddered as he imagined the snort of laughter Harry would let out. And besides, having a hard on while Harry was staring at him with such hawk-like precision was a dangerous situation. 

Bugger it, why did his emotions always have to take over? 

He knew that there was only one thing that surpassed the control his temper had over his actions, and that was his libido. 

Damn it.   
  
When he looked back on it, he knew he should have punched the git, but when Malfoy got all extra-strength man on him and started brutally biting down and licking at his back... Ron flushed right down to his toes as he grinned slightly goofily. 

It felt _damn_ good. 

But he should have stopped it. If not when Malfoy first jumped him, but definitely when Harry had caught them. Ron wanted to bury his face in his hands as he remembered in mortification. What was he, some sex crazed freak who couldn't refuse Malfoy if he tried? Who would shag him in front of the whole school if he suggested it? But… jeez, Malfoy. You know… _Malfoy_. Who would have thought that he'd fall hard for Draco Malfoy? With his biting comments, his sneering face and his perfect lips…? His silver, ice-flecked eyes that narrowed and gleamed maliciously when he was pissed off and that infuriatingly gorgeous smirk he always wore…

Ron looked up to see a slightly impatient and hopeful looking Harry. 

"Yeah, Harry," he finally said with an embarrassed sort of grin. "I think I _really_ do like him."

It didn't look like the answer Harry wanted to hear but the bespectacled wizard just nodded, gave his friend a _very_ pained half smile then returned back to his cards. Ron, with a strange sense of contentment in his chest, turned silently back to his. He _liked_ Malfoy. He honestly, truly _liked_ him… Wow. That was one for the history books.

"You do know I'm going to hex him for the rest of his life if he hurts you." He said it so casually that Ron nearly spluttered as he turned to Harry, who was smiling passively down at his desk as he turned another 'Death' card over, this one depicting the gruesome image of the Grim Reaper walloping Card Harry repeatedly with a shovel. The redhead, after the initial shock, slowly let out a dazed grin.

"Y'know, Harry, you sound kinda like Hermione when she's going through one of her barking phases." As soon as his sentence kicked in his head, Ron suddenly groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "Ah, shit… _Hermione_…" 

"You going to tell her then?" Harry asked as he pulled out a 'The Victim' card, then sighed at his findings. Ron, who was in the middle of debating it within his mind and also just realising how amazingly calmly Harry was taking this, got suddenly distracted as his redheaded counterparts in the cards started pulling stupid faces at him.

"Hey!" he cried out as he realised he'd unconsciously pulled out 'The Fool', 'The Joker' and 'The Clown' cards one after the other. "I think I'm seeing a pattern." Harry smiled as he eyed Ron's hat trick then pulled at one of his own cards.

"Yeah, me too… and whoa! This is getting ridiculous! This can't possibly be real…" Harry brandished around the 'Decapitation' card in disbelief then threw it down in exasperation. Ron peered over his shoulder to look at the card as he flickered through his own deck.

"You know, that head looks like yours, too. It's even got your… Hey! _Am not_!"

"You're not what?" Harry asked with a puzzled look at Ron's sudden mood shift. The redhead tried to subtly move his arm behind his back, shielding the 'Love-Sick Dolt' card (illustrating a love-sick looking Ron pulling petals off a flower and giggling 'Draco Loves me… Draco loves me not') from Harry's view.

"Uh… nothing…" he lied as he slipped the card up his robe sleeve, a flush rising to his freckled cheeks. Harry looked at him warily for a while, his green eyes twinkling curiously then shrugged again and returned back to his horrific looking deck. Ron returned back to his own face down, ornately decorated one and was just about to pluck at the top card, praying that it wasn't the 'Sex-freak' card, when he felt that tingle at the back of his neck again. Oh for Christ's sake! What was it?! He turned around sharply, getting pretty damn annoyed with the strange feeling it gave him and caught sight of a tassel covered blank wall. With a suspicious look at it, as though sure Peeves was going to float out any second, Ron slowly turned his head back to the front of the class and accidentally caught Lavender's eye in the process, who was… Damn – was she batting her eyelashes coquettishly at him? 

_Look away… Look away…_

"You alright?" Harry asked as he noticed his friend was frozen, mid-plucking his card and also turning very red. Ron shook his head to rid his daze, then almost sheepishly smiled back at his friend.

"Yeah, it's just… I dunno… I think I'm going nutters. It's weird, I keep feeling as though someone's watching me or something…" Harry looked at him pensively and with slight concern as Ron shrugged and concentrated fully on his card. 

"Maybe it was Lavender, she has been looking at you a lot lately." Damn, the redhead hadn't even noticed that one of the best-looking girls in the year was eying him shamefully up. Bloody Malfoy. Bugger, He couldn't even say that with conviction anymore because he automatically thought how good a kisser 'Bloody Malfoy' was. As Harry continued, his voice contained an unconcealable grin. "Should I tell her she's not your type then?" Ron turned to see a cheeky grin on his face and he nudged Harry's elbow off the table. 

"Watch it, Potter," he said and sniggered at how Harry's glasses slipped to the tip of his nose as he lost balance. Still laughing at Harry's scowls, he finally turned his card over and immediately stopped his childish guffawing as his smile faltered slightly. The Boy Who Lived adjusted his spectacles as he looked over at Ron's side of the desk then smirked and clapped him on the back.

"Serves you right, Weasley. But hey, welcome to the club; 'The Dead Wizard's Society'. At least I'll see a friendly face in hell with me." Ron smiled weakly back at him.

"Yeah," he said, feeling oddly apprehensive as he turned back to Death Card lying face up on his desk, which had its own little redheaded victim coughing up blood in the illustration…

* * *

**Draco – Pigs That Can Fly**

Draco didn't know what had affected him most as he walked back to the Shack in the early hours of the morning. Maybe it was his feeling of severe and dangerous hostility towards both Potter and especially Longbottom when Weasley finally panicked and suggested in a squeaky voice that he leave. It might have been the tingly goodbye kiss that halted every vulgarity Draco knew sneering out his mouth. Or perhaps it was the enchantingly warm welcome of a dagger with the Dark Mark crest right through the front door of the Shrieking Shack. If he really stretched his imagination, it could have possibly been the piece of parchment it had pinned to the wood, with the message on it threatening him with disembowelment, decapitation and dismemberment. But Draco Malfoy was pretty damn sure it was the figure of Albus Dumbledore standing regally in the middle of his living room and looking far from pleased with him. 

"I hope you left Mr Weasley well," he spoke evenly and his face was set though his blue eyes behind his spectacles were flashing quite dangerously. Draco caught himself before he gulped like a guilty schoolboy, which, in truth, was exactly what he was as he pulled off his silvery cloak, ruffling his usually sleek hair in the process. Dumbledore didn't wait for him to answer as he almost serenely clasped his hands in front of him. "I take it you read the note." It was never good when Dumbledore didn't use Draco's name at least once. The Slytherin attempted to subtly wipe his sweaty palms on his robes, then realised that Malfoys didn't sweat under pressure. So he left his cold hands to drip to their own accord. How the fuck did Dumbledore have this power over people? He was over a hundred, spoke gently and always had that Grandfather-like twinkle in his eye (not that he resembled Draco's Grandfather by any means) but even someone as spite-thirsty as the Slytherin knew to keep their tongue in check around him. Draco tried to shrug nonchalantly as he somehow bullied himself to defiantly keep eye contact with the headmaster. Damn, that gaze was practically piercing painful holes into his own.

"Well, they're not exactly original, are they?" He tried not to sound too malevolent; not even he was fool enough to try Dumbledore's wrath. Fuck, he was surprised that the headmaster hadn't Avada Kedavra-ed his arse yet. Even the crapping way he blinked was calm and composed.

"It is fortunate indeed that you were not here… is it not, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco didn't trust himself to speak. In fact, he wasn't sure if he bloody could. But he wasn't going to let himself fall into Dumbledore's trap. There was no fucking way that an ex-Gryffindor was going to get him. Seeing his silence, Dumbledore calmly carried on. "Do you know what I was standing here and deliberating, Draco?"

_How a perfect specimen such as yourself took solace in the arms of a Weasley?_ Well, at least he was using his name. That had to be a good sign. Still, Draco didn't even trust himself to shrug in polite curiosity as he held his breath. And besides, he wasn't too sure how to execute the polite aspect of that procedure anyway. He wasn't fucking Potter, after all. Dumbledore's eyes flickered as he continued. "I was wondering how on earth a Death Eater could have not only entered the grounds, but known of your specific whereabouts." Fuck this. He hated when Dumbledore tried to drag things out to make himself sound so bloody important and wise. Draco didn't need him anyway. He didn't need his help or this God ugly shack to live in. He crossed his arms over his chest, though knew not to scowl too brutally.

"Aren't you going to kick me out then?" Then he added, just for ceremony's sake, "Again?" Dumbledore, eying his disobedient student, slowly broke into a soft, twinkling smile. 

"I see no call for that." There was a short pause where neither party moved. The Slytherin, who was as smooth and cold as they came, blinked stupidly up at the headmaster when realisation sunk in. Despite himself, he stammered like a little girl.

"But… but I left when you told me not to... I was, I was fucking unruly…"

"Language, Draco," Dumbledore scolded gently, though was still smiling faintly. "And, in fact, I believe it is I who failed you, not the reverse. You see, I was also deliberating how fortunate it is that you have such a penchant to break rules…" Here he paused again, his eyes suddenly glitteringly painfully bright as he sighed deeply and almost mischievously. "…Aaaaaah, the sacrifices one undertakes for love…" 

Draco froze as soon as the last word was spoken. He snapped his eyes up at the man, suddenly feeling like an equal adversary and completely forgetting that Dumbledore could snap his neck in half without raising a drop of sweat. 

The fucking cheek of the man. How dare he assume that he even liked Weasley let alone… It was the word that could not be said. Draco never had cause to utter it and he certainly wasn't going to start now. Especially towards a bloody Weasley… it was laughable.

"I don't bloody…"

"I must go," the Headmaster said suddenly, cutting him off. He loathed it when people cut him off. Draco couldn't help it. He snarled. 

"What, to go save Pothead's life?" he asked in a sardonic voice. Dumbledore looked as though he was fighting hard not to smile at Draco's nickname for Golden Boy; a little twitch going in the headmaster's trembling cheek.

"No, Mr Malfoy," he finally answered after coughing rather unconvincingly, still biting the inside of his wrinkled cheek. "Just your own. I have placed a complex protective charm around this Shack; it seems Voldemort has more allies than I foolishly first predicted. Only your teachers, approved house-elves and myself am authorised to enter."

Great. Just fucking great. Not only was he still on Voldemort's bloody hitlist but now he had no idea where the fuck he was going to fuck Weasley. Knowing the Headmaster, he wasn't going to let Draco wander out of Shack anytime soon. If he didn't break into the boy soon he was going to get unhealthily more violent than he already was. And he knew that was hazardous. Dumbledore smiled a little wider. 

"And oh yes, Mr Malfoy, I mustn't forget to mention… Mr Weasley has also been permitted to enter." Draco blinked up at him. It was almost as though Dumbledore could read minds… what was he, a bloody Seer? "We wouldn't want to damage such a promising beginning… now would we, Draco?" Bugger him. He was grinning now. Dumbledore never fucking grinned! Right, he was just getting out of control. There was nothing… _nothing _tangible between him and Weasel. What the heck did Dumbledore think it was? A bloody _Witch's Weekly_ cute couple of the week article? He didn't even like the boy. He just wanted to screw his brains out. That was all. Draco squeezed his eyes shut as a headache started to form. He hated headaches.

"I fucking told you," he hissed through gritted teeth as he rubbed his fingertips across his sore temples. "I don't bloody…"

He snapped his eyes open to look the old man insolently in the eye. Shit. He had vanished. Actually, the Slytherin reasoned that he probably just used the front door but vanished sounded much more mysterious. Draco grumbled at the empty space where Dumbledore should have been standing. Stupid fucking Dumbledore. Just who did he crapping think he was? Even hinting that he… that him and Weasley were… Draco shook his head, growling as he raked his hand through his mussed hair. This was really too much for him to deal with without breaking something. Shaking his head angrily again, he stuck his nose up in the air with feigned nonchalance and walked arrogantly up the stairs. Fuck them. Just fuck them all. He was going to bed.

***

When the Slytherin finally awoke, it was due to the annoying little magic alarm clock that McGonagall had programmed to scream piercingly to wake him up for all his lessons. Dumbledore thought it was an incredibly helpful idea but Draco knew better. She didn't do it aid him, she did it to fucking piss him off. Just because he saw Potter as the complete non-entity he was. Stupid Tartan-Covered Gryffindor bitch. Pulling his covers from over his head and looking a bleary eye at it, he saw the hand pointing at 'Transfiguration'. He snarled at its audacity and smashed it angrily with his fist, though for some sordid reason was quite relieved to see the broken cogs and the almost dejected expression on its clock face slowly straighten and heal back to their original state instantaneously. McGonagall had used an Unbreakable Charm on it. The clever old bat knew him better than he thought. He smirked dryly as he stretched and found himself pleased with McGonagall's adopting the charm. He'd spent too long conjuring the clock orange and adorning it with brown polka dots with his wand anyway. In some perverse way, he was quite fond of it. 

Picking up his wand from beside the recovered clock, the Slytherin swished, flicked, muttered a familiar incantation and in less than a second was dressed impressively in his dark green robes, silver cuffs dazzling at his sleeve sides and his silver Venomous Snake Fang hanging off a simple black shoelace string tight around his neck. He didn't care what anyone said. He was still a bloody Slytherin and he would always dress like one. And so what if no one could see him? He wasn't going to waste his remarkable looks by dressing like Weasley… though he had to admit that those loose threads on the redhead's robes were enticing. Just one little pull and he'd unravel the prize underneath… Just like pass the parcel. Draco smirked again when he recalled that as a child not only did he never pass it on to anyone else but he also ripped every shred off viciously, using his teeth if he had to. He grimaced slightly when he recalled the scolding from his father he'd received for betraying such ineloquence. He'd been given etiquette lessons after all… Shit, no wonder he was revealing fucking homo tendencies…

Ignoring that annoying pricking at the back of his mind, the Slytherin turned his attention back to his amazing appearance again. For some screwed up reason, when he'd first arrived to the shack, all the mirrors were broken, though the Slytherin had rectified this situation by repairing them all with his wand. In his opinion it was a true crime to harm a mirror. Maybe the last occupant was hideously ugly. He hoped the shit got all the bad luck accompanied with ruining such a truly great invention. He tried not to pose in front of the full-length mirror but couldn't help but throw it a heart-breaking smirk.

"You really are a sexy bastard," his mirror self answered back, wearing the very same smirk. Like he didn't already know that. With saucy lick of his lips, he turned away and made his way down the stairs. Doing his morning routine then picking up his full plate and goblet from the kitchen, Draco placed them down on the coffee table and slipped down onto the sofa, which was placed perfectly for one to watch the Observer screen. He'd have to eat and work at the same time. Like a muggle TV dinner. How amazingly common. Pulling out his wand, he pointed it straight at the screen and sighed, "Advanced Transfiguration Class B." The blank screen immediately switched on with a click and Draco was faced with the familiar feeling of being a fly on the back wall of the class. He looked at the black board behind McGonagall for the topic for the day. Great, turning a weasel into a ferret. Instantaneously a weasel jumped out of the screen and onto his lap. He dryly thought of how fucking considerate of McGonagall it was to send him one. He gave the orange thing a look of dislike as it looked up at him with its strange blue eyes with an almost cheeky expression. Draco wrinkled his nose in disgust as it. He had enough of ferret transfiguration for a lifetime. The Slytherin growled as he thought of how very lucky Barty Crouch Jnr was that he was already dead. And why the fuck was he being given this easy shite? Pointing his wand dispassionately at the creature, a small pop ensued and it immediately emerged from the smoke as a pure white ferret. It was still looking at him happily. He snarled again. Slapping it off his lap, it produced a weird squeak and scurried away. He bloody hated ferrets. And he hated being underestimated. He could do this with his eyes closed… what a bloody waste of his time. And they called it Advanced Transfiguration… _Yeah, for fucking Longbottom. _He narrowed his eyes… _Longbottom… _And just thinking about Longbottom automatically reminded him of the much pleasanter form of…

_Weasley._

He wondered what Weasley was doing. Well, actually, he knew. You didn't become an efficient stalker of a boy to not know his timetable by heart. Weasley had Divination right now. Without even consulting his rational side, Draco lifted up his wand and determinably said, "Divination Class A." The screen flickered from the Transfiguration classroom (where Pansy was sickeningly hugging and kissing her struggling Ferret and continuously calling it Draco) to a misty looking and unfamiliar place that looked like a teashop. Of course he didn't recognise the room. Like he'd be fool enough to take Divination. Stupid Fucking Weasley. Despite himself, his stomach did a strange sort of back flip when he caught a shock of red in front of him. The redhead and bloody Potter were the closest students to him… he thanked heck that they sat at the back to avoid that bug-eyed, misty cow. Well, he couldn't give a shit about Potter but… Wait a shitting second… why was Potter smiling at Weasley like that? And why the heck was Weasley blushing and smiling softly back? The Slytherin's fists clenched by his sides. No way was Weasley getting away with this. There was no fucking way he, God's gift Malfoy, was going to come second to Potter. And there was no fucking way Potter was going to touch Slytherin property. He'd make damn sure of that. Not that he could blame Scarface, or anything. Even from his fly on the back wall view, Draco could see how utterly perfect the redhead was from behind… damn, he had a _perfect behind._ And his neck… Draco nearly shuddered as he studied the bare flesh in front of him, but quickly caught himself. The Slytherin always had had a throat fetish but Weasley's… Unconsciously, he leant forwards and brushed his fingertips against the back of Weasley's neck on the cold screen. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn that he'd seen the boy shiver with his touch…

Shit. 

The Slytherin withdrew his hand as though the screen had suddenly gone up several thousand degrees.

What the fuck was he doing? Acting like some love-sick dolt? Mother-fucking, scrotum-sucking Weasel! And why the heck was he now stroking the screen with his other hand…!? 

Jesus. 

Weasley suddenly turned and was now looking right at him. Could he feel him? Their eyes locked. Draco wasn't even sure if he should exhale as he sat rigid. Could the Weasel see him? Wait, of course he bloody couldn't…! The Slytherin was getting obsessed and stupid with his paranoia. Weasley looked nice when he was pissed off though…

Right, that was enough observing for today…

"ELIMINICIA!" he shrieked, pointing his wand almost threateningly at the screen even when it switched off, just daring it to start up again. He dropped his wand, allowing it to fall to the floor as he looked down at his plate. Yes. He needed to eat. His brain was going weird due to his lack of food. That's what it was. And so he picked up his fork and kept on eating, stopping only when the plate refilled for the fifth time. 

Fuck it. A half-hour of eating and now he felt bloated as well as horny. And also very worried that the roast chicken was going to blight his faultless body.

God, he was going to throttle whoever it was that made him feel like this for the Gryffindor. Trying to make him forget about his strict diet and his very unhomo self. Probably some sick bitch. You could never trust women… All they ever fucking wanted was romance and lo-… you know, that arsing word. And he wasn't letting it happen. And _Weasley_ of all people. You'd think he'd have better taste… This was supposed to be a sexual arrangement, not a bloody relationship with vile feelings and sappy notes that made the Slytherin want to throw up. However, instead of the kissing trying to wean him out of it, all he wanted was more of Weasley's body to conquer and in every way imaginable. Damn his greedy nature.

The Slytherin had just decided that he needed another pitcher if pumpkin juice to drown the fag inside his head when something shot through his window, causing him to duck before it took his head off. 

What the fuck?! Was Voldemort losing it and resorting to stupid tactics like throwing tennis balls at his victims instead of Cruciating them? 

Whatever it was, the furry round object slammed into the nearest wall… but this didn't hinder it. Draco lifted his head boldly up to see two tiny crossed eyes and a little head shaking the fatigue off as it flapped eagerly towards him, the letter in its talons weighing it down as it fluttered with all its might to keep afloat in the air.

Weasley's owl dropped the rectangular scrap of parchment into his lap, hooting in incessant delight. 

If he wasn't so curious about what his redhead could possibly want to say to him, he would have swiped angrily at the air and batted the stupid thing back out of his window again. But this was the first note the object of his obsessions had ever sent him and evil plans really couldn't be thought up when he was so distracted. Folding open the old and practically withering paper, the Slytherin curiously scanned the messy scrawl with his sharp grey eyes. Now, what the heck did the Weasel have to say for himself?

_You decent so I can visit, Malfoy? I'd prefer it if you weren't but whatever…_

Draco tried not to smile contentedly. He loved it when people told him how gorgeous he knew he was.

_Anyway, I want to talk to you. And well… it's gonna sound nutty but I just wanted to check if you were, I dunno… Ok, I guess. Was also wondering if maybe we could, kinda well finish what we started last night…? I'd like… I mean, we don't have to… Just Owl me back if you can't. Yeah._

_Ron_

_P.S. Don't hurt Pig. Or I'll hurt you. A lot._

Lowering the note, the Slytherin let out a smug smirk. So, the Weasel couldn't resist the Malfoy charms either? And he was also a horny little bastard too… The ideal partner to have… 

And Pig? What fucking Pig? 

The little owl suddenly hooted at him from above his head, almost to assure him that he was indeed a 'Pig'.

"Your name's Pig is it?" Draco smirked, looking up at the tiny thing. The owl hooted again gleefully, flying about annoyingly over Draco's head like an irritatingly fly the Slytherin wanted to swot. "Trust Weasley to give you such a stupid fucking name." The flying Pig seemed to hoot in animated agreement. Then, without warning, the fluffy thing whooshed straight towards the Slytherin's palm, landing deftly onto Draco's hand and folding up his wings to gaze silently up at him. The Slytherin, slightly uncomfortable with Weasley's little owl uncharacteristically still in his hand, glared silently down through narrowed eyes until he snapped cagily.

"What the hell do you want, owl?" Pig's large, excited eyes looked widely up at him, the bird almost crooning lovingly at him. What the heck was up with the stupid bird? Then Draco figured that, like Weasley, it probably wanted feeding or something. "I haven't got any bloody food for you." Stupid thing probably didn't understand a word he was saying. Why was he surprised? This was _Weasley's _bird. Probably found him in a fucking dumpster or something. It wasn't like he was trained like Hades had been. Draco, however, was pulled from his thoughts when the owl started to nip at his thumb in a would-be affectionate sort of way. "Hell, quit it, bird!" 

But the stupid bird didn't quit it. In fact he did it even more, pecking softly at every available bit of skin on the Slytherin's thumb. Draco let out an angry and exasperated puff of air. "Do you know that I could crush you into a fist right now?" he asked threateningly. Pig hooted happily again as though there were nothing he knew better, when, almost out of nowhere, he started to blink his lamp-like eyes tiredly and began to snuggle up against the Slytherin's abused thumb. "Stupid Bird…" he muttered, though found himself stroking the minute owl with that very thumb and the index finger on his other hand. Damn the fur ball for being so cute. Like owner, like owl… Wait. Where the hell was his bad boy image. Was he really thinking the stupid git's bird was cute? The Slytherin snapped. He was not full of compassion… what was he turning into?! "Wake the fuck up, owl… Jesus, get off!" Draco jerked the bird from his hand, causing an unsuspecting Pig to plummet towards the ground though he managed to catch himself just before he smashed into the floor and soared upwards. You'd think that would put the stupid thing off the idea of Draco as a potential parent but it only made him hoot more excitedly, like dropping him was some kind of ride for him. What the heck was he, a masochist? Draco growled through his teeth at it… why the fuck wasn't it cowering with the Slytherin's oh-so-scary wrath? He looked up at it as it started to circle around him devotedly.

"Shit, how the heck does Weasley put up with you?"

"With great bloody difficulty." 

He tried not to jump out of his skin as he turned and found the sexiest being alive casually leaning against his doorframe and smiling almost smugly. 

"Nice to see you too, Malfoy. And also good to see you didn't kill my bird." 

That Stupid prick; _nearly_ scaring him like that. Like a Weasley ever could anyway. However, it seemed that Draco wasn't the only one Weasley's presence had a great, stirring affect on. The Pig of an owl went absolutely berserk at the sound of the voice and rocketed towards his owner, hooting relentlessly and tangling himself affectionately through Weasley's bright red hair. 

"Gah! Pig! Get out of it, you stupid feathery git!" Weasley flailed his long arms, looking completely comical and not at all as cool as he was when he first made his unexpected appearance. Draco sneered cruelly at the sight, crossing his arms over his chest and observing as Weasley finally managed to extract the bird five minutes later from his now messy hair, the redhead's face bright red from both exertion and embarrassment. The Gryffindor raised his eyes to the blond boy as he held the owl tightly in his fist, Pig's little feathery head just about visible from the top of the fist as he cheeped cheerfully on. Weasley shrugged, smiling sheepishly at Draco at first before eventually looking awkward under the Slytherin's silent though acute and icy gaze. Draco twisted his lips and raised a perfect silver brow, trying to force a completely stone cold expression.

"You were quick," he said frostily, trying to look as composed as a person who wasn't about to pin down and shag the boy in front of him. Weasley raked his other hand through his hair as though self-consciously trying to calm it slightly, but it only went static and stuck up oddly from his head. The Slytherin noted that it made him look neurotically cute, as did the glowing freckled features and the nervous pawing of his toe on the carpet.

"Well, err… yeah, I was actually waiting just outside when I sent Pig." Weasley was still grinning embarrassingly, his cheeks flushed with his confession. Man, Draco wanted him. More than a Firebolt, more than Potter's fame… damn, more than fucking power. And he knew this wasn't the way it should have been. Weasley had no bloody right to place himself so high on the Slytherin's priority list. Stupid arse. As if lust wasn't bad enough… now he had to go and feel something other than arousal for the prick. He hated fucking feelings.

The blond boy thought of many witty rejoinders to the Gryffindor's lame sentence. 

_Pig? You mean that excuse for a bird?_

_How sweet Weasley, was this after you blew Potter?_

And he obviously thought of many perverse things to say as well.

_Weasley, quit talking, strip and get on that bed._

_Well, you better tell your owl to piss off. It doesn't look over 18 and I have very adult things to do to you._

But, ultimately he decided on a cold, snappy:

"Go away, Weasley." 

The redhead's smile faltered slightly. It took a while but he soon grinned broadly again, shaking the remark off as he went back to leaning comfortably against the frame. Did he have to look so adorable when he did that…? And why was Draco thinking he was adorable? He was just allowed to be sexy, nothing else.

"I'd rather stay here and harass you." 

The redhead grinned again quite cheekily, that dimple in his flushed cheek appearing. Fuck this. This was obsession. Weasley had said that to him before and he remembered it clearly too. It was very hard, but Draco didn't take the bait. He looked the Gryffindor ferociously in the eye as he snarled. The cold and calculating approach was doing nothing to make the git go away.

"Just piss off, Weasel. I'm not in the mood for you, your bloody sickening Gryffindor cheer or your fucking charity. Besides…" Draco sneered contemptuously, eying Weasley's robes. "…You can barely afford to dish it out. Still stealing your outfits from children, I see." 

The good-natured and almost goofy grin disappeared from Weasley's face instantly. Draco could see the gradual rush of blood underneath his skin, shocked hurt soon turning to anger as Weasley self-consciously tugged down at the sleeves of his short robes. Actually, the last thing Draco wanted was less of Weasley's body to see. The Slytherin's shrewd eyes easily caught the quick flash of hurt in his redhead's eye. 

Good. 

Draco wanted him to hurt. He wanted him to crawl up into a little ball and cry until his sobs lacerated the insides of his throat and made his head pound battery acid. He wanted to make Ron Weasley miserable. He wanted to feel the power he had over him. And he wanted to feel anything but the disgusting things that he was feeling for him at that very moment. Draco smirked brilliantly. "Going to cry, Weasley? Going to run off to Potter and tell him what Big Bad Draco did?" The redhead didn't respond but Draco noticed how faint his freckles were when he went that fetching shade of red that clashed with his gorgeous head of hair. He could also hear a gradual and unmistakably sexy growl coming from the other boy's throat. This only tempted the Slytherin to continue. "I wouldn't be surprised if you did. What would Scarface be without his little sidekick running behind him all the time? Probably wouldn't even notice. I suppose his arse would go through withdrawal symptoms of not being kissed every waking moment, but he'll probably be relieved to be spared of his little red-haired shadow." Draco silently reminded himself that he would actually kill Potter very slowly if Weasley's lips went anywhere near his rear. 

Ah. The trembling fists by Weasley's sides. The lava red face. The bent legs looking ready for a good pounce. He really was so predictable. Well, Draco supposed he should just get the boy to breaking point. After all, it was the least he could do… With a toss of his silver head, he smiled malevolently. "Not going to answer back, Weasel? Not going to throw a punch? It looks like you actually agree with me," Draco smirked even more infuriatingly. "Measly fucking Weasley… who the fuck would miss you if you died right this second?"__

**_I would! I would! I would!_**

_Shut up. No one's talking to you._

Now he was shaking with fury, his teeth practically chattering. Oooooh, he was _really_ pissed off. Fucking sexy git. Draco had known that he'd hit a weak spot as soon as he said it. And although he very much enjoyed stabbing repeatedly at that spot once he found it on someone, the Slytherin just didn't get it. Weasley… jealous of Potter? He wanted to snort with laughter. Please, his redhead was so much better that it was ridiculous. But why did the Weasel fucking insist on believing that Draco was some sweet, misunderstood little boy? Why did he stupidly lead himself into a false sense of security with a guy who just didn't give a damn about anyone or anything? It was pathetic. And Draco hated that he'd very nearly apologised for the remark. Instead of displaying the moment of weakness, he fashioned his most perfected smirk. Weasley shook his head in stiff disbelief as his strained, angry voice trembled in slight… was it apprehension?

"You're just saying that. You don't mean it." He did love it when the Weasel talked through clenched teeth. He stepped forwards, noticing that Weasley made no move to step back. Hell, the boy looked almost eager.

"Come on, Weasley," Draco purred, advancing like a confident predator. "You know it's true. You're the Weasley who's nothing special. You know it as well as I do." The Slytherin stopped when their faces were a foot apart, close enough to either reach out and kiss or punch brutally.

But it didn't go the way he planned.

Instead of fuming with angry lust, Weasley broke into a small, dry smile. The Slytherin blinked. Shit, why the fuck was he smiling? He wasn't supposed to be bloody smiling. He was supposed to succumb to his plan. Weasley's bright blue eyes were twinkling like one who just figured out an amazing discovery inside their head and Draco was not pleased, despite the cute look it gave him.

"Malfoy, you are so full of shit," he said with a light shake of his head and a sudden mischievous curve of his biteable lips. When did Weasley get so rational? "You want me as much as I want you. Why do you always have to play this fucked up game?"

"I don't have a fucking idea what you mean, Poor Boy," Draco hissed. He wasn't going to panic just because Weasley had finally got passed his typically illogical mode. He was still in control. "I'd tell you to buy a clue but you couldn't afford one."

Weasley pursed his lips, sighing, shaking his head and seeming quite resigned when he suddenly attacked. The redhead grabbed Draco's arms, pulled him viciously against him then spun them collectively around, pressing the Slytherin against the wall and his forehead against Draco's.

Shit. That definitely wasn't supposed to happen. And he really didn't want to pull away anytime soon… 

Neither knew how long they stood like that for, just sharing breath and glaring silently at one another. The slightly shorter boy finally spoke, eyes half closed in odd pleasure. "I'm waiting for you to punch me, Weasel." Damn, why did Weasley always do this breathless thing to him? And why wasn't he more angry and pushing him off him? He shifted slightly in Weasley's talented hands, the redhead's grip intensifying. The Gryffindor wasn't going to let him go anytime soon. And the Nancy Boy side of him didn't want him to either. Shit, he really was in fucking trouble.

"I'd… I'd rather kiss you first," Weasley said hoarsely against his lips, his voice almost shaking with nerves. The Slytherin opened his eyes properly, his cloudy orbs gleaming at his redhead with open hunger. 

"Too late." Before Weasley could register Draco's whisper, then his smirk, the Slytherin switched their positions around and slammed the redhead against the wall instead, crushing his lips against Weasley's before the boy could protest. Did the Weasel honestly think he'd be the fucking passive one? He smiled against the Gryffindor's lips when he realised that the eager boy wasn't about to protest any time in this century as Weasley kissed back with pure fervour. But the Slytherin wanted a lot more than this. 

A lot more. 

He slipped his hand between their bodies and skilfully inside the Gryffindor's jeans and his boxers, cupping his hands very tightly around the certain hot something that he'd wanted to grab since Gryffindor first entered the shack. Weasley squeezed his eyes tightly and whimpered, leaning all his weight against the wall as Draco kissed across his jaw. 

"You, me and sex right now, Weasley," he whispered, finally stating his favourite demand out loud as he moved his lips to nibble and lick at the shell of the redhead's ear seductively, causing him to gasp. Damn, he loved doing that. "What do you say?"

"**_I_** say you unhand him, Mr Malfoy and come with us." 

Fuck.

Draco froze completely, his hand rigid and still in Weasley's boxers. Oh Fuckety fuck. He recognised that cold, curt voice better than his own. And he knew very well whom it belonged to. But it couldn't be. It just fucking couldn't be…

He felt a sick feeling in his stomach, completely forgetting about scowling about another ruined 'Shag Weasley' moment. He didn't even think about cursing the bitch who had placed yet another interference in his screwing plans. Catching the redhead's eye, both boys slowly turned their heads in wary trepidation to the doorway, where one figure stood in shock, clutching her heart and the other looked sardonically amused. If Draco didn't feel so absolutely mortified he would have groaned. Of all the people in the Wizarding World to catch them, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape were very close to what the Slytherin would mark as the worst. 


	16. A Change of Venue

_Nope, your eyes aren't deceiving you. This is an update *gasp* I've actually finally finished this chapter. I know it may take a while to adjust to this absolutely shocking news, but hopefully you'll be lucid enough to read and *bats eyelashes* review…? _

_The slight Neville/Snape interaction is all for Maria who is ---- Dirty ;) And the Rocky Horror is all for Maud as a tribute to her fabulous fic 'Don't Judge a Book By its Cover' – go forth and read it! (and read 'Strange Bedfellows' while you're at it!) Oooooh, read 'Daily Prophet' too… and 'When you Wish' by Vistagazer (returning the favour *wink*) and 'Is this Desire' by the wonderful Dee, 'The Trouble with Harry' by beautiful wife Sophie and anything by Dala and… Oh, there are too many! This is all for wifey Jaime who hinted slightly (giggles) that I don't love her anymore… Dear me, you'd think marriage was easy! And I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed, as usual! You guys really make this worth writing. You've all made me giddy in the knowledge that you actually like this crap *Gushes* Thanks again and sorry if this is again longer (a lot longer) than usual (I'm trying to end this at only 18 chapters)… man, I'm so gonna end up crashing my computer with this story… xxxx_

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**Harry – A Traitor Among Us**

The Boy Who Lived was not happy. In fact, you could honestly say that Harry Potter was, at that very moment, far from pleased. The several-times-saviour-of-the-world was miles from contented, hours away from blissful and could not even see relaxed on the horizon. Or, to put it in layman's terms, you could just say the kid was pissed right off. Running a hand through his messy black hair in frustration, the bespectacled wizard kicked irritably at the stone wall of the corridor, almost reprimanding it for failing to lead him to Ron, the person he had been unsuccessfully searching for throughout the duration of the last half hour. Turning around and slamming his back against the already abused wall, Harry squeezed his green eyes tightly shut and leant his head back against the cold stone; attempting to reclaim his already tried composure. It was not as though he was usually this frustrated when he couldn't find his redheaded best friend but then again, it was not everyday that Harry knew how much the youngest Weasley boy rejoiced in being physically entwined with Draco Bloody Malfoy… He clenched his teeth as tightly as he screwed up his eyes, his mind playing out a cruel image of Draco Malfoy grinning maliciously and slithering his thin, snake-like tongue between his pinned-down and struggling friend's lips… _Ron doesn't struggle though, does he? And he doesn't mind being pinned down by that slimy, sadistic and pale little… _

Harry groaned as he banged the back of his head sharply and purposely against the wall in aggravation. He then blinked away the immediate stars that began to dance at his eyeballs. Why couldn't he just deal with it? So his best friend wanted to shag Draco 'Death Eater' Malfoy and even 'liked' him somewhat… what was the problem? The black-haired wizard knew he had to be supportive. He knew he had to _not_ freak out. He knew if he yelled, stomped his feet, flailed his arms a lot and declared Ron an idiot that he would lose his best friend. Harry knew, especially after his fourth year, how much he needed Ron and how important he was to him. And he especially knew how short Ron's temper could be if you scolded him for something that meant a lot to him. And for some reason, Draco Bloody Malfoy seemed to mean a lot to him. It was all just fucked up. The Boy Who Lived would have to force a smile when Ron talked all dreamily about Malfoy and even bloody well nod and ask for details like a true friend would… And talking about Malfoy…. What the hell was he doing back at Hogwarts?! Why was he even there in the first place? Didn't Dumbledore expel him? Wouldn't Dumbledore have to hex him into a thousand pieces once he saw him back on the grounds? Harry inwardly grinned at this but this good humour was soon cut short when he remembered something Hermione had once told him. Confusion took hold as he recalled that once a student was expelled, they could no longer enter the grounds. Magical restrictive barriers would refuse to admit them unless Dumbledore or the Governors personally stepped in and overruled the law for a particular reason…

_"For example, Hagrid being allowed within Hogwarts by Dumbledore so he can be Gameskeeper..."_ he remembered her telling him. _"It's all in Hogwarts: A History, if you and Ron ever bother to open it and read…"_

To own the truth, it wasn't as though he usually listened to Hermione rant on and on and quote paragraph after paragraph of _Hogwarts: A History _but he sure remembered that conversation. It had primarily started with the three of them happily celebrating the fact that they'd never see Malfoy again. How wrong he was…__

The cogs in his mind were beginning to turn. Harry furrowed his dark eyebrows. That meant that Malfoy was allowed on the grounds… didn't it? After what he did, Dumbledore was still paying him sympathy? But why…? Why would the wise Headmaster let an obvious, prospective Death Eater into the school? Harry let out a dejected sigh as he slumped back against the wall. If Ron wasn't so intent on buggering him at the current moment, the bespectacled wizard was sure that his friend wouldn't have been too happy either. 

"Harry!"

He raised his head up to be greeted by the sight of a wheezing, round and chubby figure approaching him. Harry managed a weak smile as a breathless Neville looked at him in relief, panting and wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his podgy hand. Harry studied his expression concernedly. 

"Hey, Neville. What is it? You look like you've seen a…" The Boy Who Lived thought about his sentence for a minute then smiled dryly. It didn't really work as well out of the Muggle world. "…I mean, you just look shaken." 

And Neville _did_ look shaken. In fact, Neville steadying breaths seemed to be more induced to some unknown fear than his exerting run. The chubbier boy paled slightly and a shiver crossed over his face, as though he were recalling something awful. The dark-haired wizard knew three people who usually caused a reaction like this from Neville Longbottom. His Grandmother, bloody Malfoy and…

"…Professor Snape just told me to go and fetch you and Hermione and said we _had_ to go to Professor Dumbledore's Office like… um, now. He said if I didn't do it fast he'd poison me…" He bit his lip and gulped as he squeaked on. "…_Repeatedly_." Harry felt a swear just begging to be released from his throat. Instead, he squeezed his eyes tightly shut again. 

"Snape's back?" he asked with a grimace. He had hoped that his least favourite teacher's absence was due to his falling into a cauldron during his potion brewing or something. But then again, Harry Potter had had enough luck, besides the whole threat on his life thing hanging over his head. And on the subject of problems hanging over his head… "Say, Neville, you haven't seen Ron, have you?" In the middle of rubbing his heaving chest in a mission to calm down his heart, Neville let out a guilty smile and blushed quite deeply at Harry's question. 

"Well, err… I kinda overheard Professor Snape tell Professor McGonagall that he was going to pick up their 'little guest' at the shack." From his uncomfortable expression, Harry supposed that his fellow Gryffindor was thinking about the other night and about the same pale and pointed-faced Slytherin. Damn, why didn't he guess?

"Malfoy," Harry scowled. He then paused to repeat Neville's sentence in his head. He bit his lip contemplatively. "But what do they mean by Shack?" Realisation began to slowly etch over his features. "Wait… do they mean the _Shrieking_ Shack? Is that where he's hiding out?" Harry seemed to be talking more to himself than to the other boy, who bit his lip nervously as he watched his famous friend. Neville was silent for a while before he merely stated, with Harry still in deep thought,

"I'm confused." 

Harry sighed, though smiled weakly at Neville as he pulled himself out of yet another image of Ron and Malfoy doing lewd things to one another and dressed in 'Rocky Horror Show' fashion. Poor Neville. He was pretty much always confused, though Harry did reason that he had good reason to be this time. 

"Me too, Neville. And slightly peeved off, too. We better be off soon. Have you seen Her…?"

"Harry! Neville!" Hermione cried out breathlessly from down the corridor as she ran towards the two boys, a giant book held in her arms. The clever witch's bushy hair was billowing behind her with her robes as the two boys turned, suddenly afraid that maybe they had spoken too loudly. And it was also then, as Hermione puffed her way towards them, that Harry felt the horrible feeling of guilt kick at his stomach. Keeping a secret about his best friend from his _other_ best friend just seemed… well, wrong. And terribly deceitful. And he was also pretty sure this painful feeling was clear on his face. Her own face was red when she reached them, gulping down a couple of unruly and uncontrollable breaths. She let out a self-conscious smile. She never was the best at sports, which she knew all too well. They were never really something that Hermione was significantly interested in. To be honest, she would prefer reading a book on sports than endeavour in the actual practice. She pushed a damp strand of hair from her eyes behind her ear, still blushing at her lack of stamina. "I've been looking for you two everywhere… Ron, too. He isn't riding that infernal broom again, is he?" She had a stern look in her eye, although it did peter on fond. Harry bit his lip. _No, Hermione. Well, not a broom anyway… _He forced himself to squeeze out a smile, which he was convinced looked guilty.

"You really do have the best timed entrances, 'Mione." His laugh sounded terribly lame and fake and to make matters worse, Neville joined in to make it sound even more artificial. It ended with an uncomfortable cough, supplied by the pudgier boy. Hermione, however, simply smiled, still recuperating as she held a stitch in her side. 

"I just saw Professor McGonagall in the Library. She said…"

"Yeah, we know," Harry cut off before he did something else with stupid awkwardness. Besides, Snape demanding their presences in Dumbledore's office was intriguing. He just wondered, with slight dread, what had happened now… "Come on guys, we better go before Snape takes points off us just for the heck of it."

***

In all the times that Harry had visited the Headmaster's office, which he had done quite a significant amount in his years at Hogwarts, he had never seen so many people crammed into it. Wizards of every size, shape and robe colour were chattering to one another, gesticulating madly with their arms and all wearing looks of frustration and anxiety, their voices buzzing indistinguishably due to the many overlapping conversations. And he didn't just see old Warlocks sitting in the corner, blowing bubbles through their long pipes. To his surprise, there were an assortment of strange creatures among the humans, including the odd merman flapping his tail in a bath of water and even a centaur munching on the refreshments. Damn, even Filch and his satanic cat were there. The three friends tried to make their way through the swarms, Neville frequently losing himself within the crowd and having to be saved on six separate occasions by either Harry or Hermione before they found a seat. There seemed to be rows of seats faced towards Dumbledore's desk, almost like a paying audience waiting for a show. He had a feeling that this wouldn't be half as much fun though. Harry squeezed himself passed a vicious looking Goblin who, to Harry's relief, actually smiled at him when the boy wizard apologised profusely for stepping on his gnarled foot. And even Hermione looked a bit flustered as she landed gratefully into a chair, the two boys immediately collapsing beside her.

"What do you think all this is about?" Harry whispered, eying the strange patrons. Neville shrugged unhelpfully as Hermione, looking almost pained that she hadn't a clue what was going on, looked to the front where stood Dumbledore's desk and to her surprise, Dumbledore, too. As Dumbledore's arrival was perceived by the rest of the room, the other chattering occupants quickly found themselves a seat and eventually mellowed their chatter to soft whispers. It was uncannily quiet as Dumbledore stood, influential as ever. But there was something different in his eyes. He looked… guarded? Harry gulped inwardly. He had a feeling that whatever this meeting was about, it was about to start pretty soon. Dumbledore nodded to his guests with a polite nod.

"Thank you all for the promptness of your arrivals. It is greatly appreciated." The old headmaster was still not smiling. The silent tension in the room was extreme, especially with so many hushed occupants. They all just watched with expectant expressions. Hermione threw Harry a troubled look. "Now, I shall not beat about the proverbial Muggle bush, so to speak, in view of the fact that we are all intelligent beings. I called this meeting since there is a traitor amongst us, if not presently in this room but seemingly on our side." 

There were the appropriate gasps as everyone began to mutter and turn to their neighbours with suspicious looks. Hermione was wringing her hands with anxiety. Neville dropped his gaze to his lap. Harry just focused almost painfully hard on the headmaster, clenching his back teeth. For a few moments, Dumbledore allowed the chatter to run strong before raising his hand authoritatively. The noise didn't take long to die away. 

"As much as I myself trust you all, it must be understood that certain precautions must be taken. As well as security tightening on the school grounds, with the support of Mr Filch…" Here Filch nodded determinably. Even Mrs Norris seemed to meow in agreement. Dumbledore let the smallest of smiles slip out. "… Steps must be taken to ensure loyalty. It has been decided amongst the Order that all allies, including those within the Order itself, must work in assigned groups. Any traitorous activity should be easily detected."

There seemed to be instant tumult at his words. Some people just shook their heads. Others complained loudly. Some even jumped off their chairs, shaking their fists in indignation. Harry understood it. People did not like being forced with a group of people when they worked better alone. They did not like the insulting accusation of being a traitor. And most importantly, they did not like being dictated to like a child.

"Honestly, Albus! Do you think that's necessary?" 

"What else do you need to believe us? Veritaserum?"

"How do we even know there _is_ a traitor?"

As usual, Dumbledore was equably dealing with the outrage. He was probably used to it, from Cornelius Fudge to even Madam Pomfrey. But Dumbledore always did what he knew was the best for everyone, despite who it was that questioned or criticised him. However, Harry noticed that the last question seemed to stir him enough to get him to answer it. He seemed to give the speaker a very emotive look.

"We know there is a traitor since they tried to kill an extremely protected student." All eyes immediately turned to Harry. He found himself smiling awkwardly, turning red and sinking lower into his chair. Dumbledore obviously noticed Harry's discomfort because he gave The Boy Who Lived a small smile.

"And a student who is not Mr Potter here. I can assure you all, though, that there is something afoot. If you trust me, you will merely see these precautions as necessary and not as a personal insult. And I ask you to trust me."

Harry couldn't help but let out a smile. Dumbledore sure knew how to talk. And he knew how to gain people's faith. You could tell from the majority of nodding heads in the crowd. Even the few reluctant looking members sighed with a resigned concurrence. Dumbledore looked satisfied. 

"Thank you. Can you all please stay behind so we can organise ourselves accordingly. I shall be with you in a moment. Now, Minerva, Severus and Misters Potter and Longbottom…" Harry looked up, quite startled to hear his name. What was _this_ about? Dumbledore caught his eye and gave him an almost reassuring look.

"Could you all please accompany me to my study."

Hermione, who was ready to get to her feet when she heard her friends' names, stopped mid-rise when she realised her own wasn't mentioned. She seemed to look up at Dumbledore, to remind him of her presence, but the Headmaster merely smiled softly at her before turning his attention to the others. The bushy-haired witch, besides looking slightly suspicious, looked clearly hurt as she bit her lower lip. However, she brightened slightly as Harry threw her a faint smile, although, he himself couldn't quite refrain from feeling more than just a little suspicious about all this as he obediently followed his Head of House towards the room. Neville just looked pale, sweaty and trembling, especially with Snape behind him, breathing down his neck and growling through his long hooked nose as he escorted them to the next room. The Head of Slytherin threw Harry an especially hated look as he opened the door for both the two teachers and, surprisingly, the two students, too. Neville tripped over his feet and into the room in his astonishment as Harry ducked into the study, avoiding Snape's glittering eyes as much as he could. To his surprise though, there were already two students inside.

The loud slam of the door from the Potions Master, indicating to all that it was firmly closed, made the two other occupants of the room jump. Harry didn't know why he wasn't surprised to see Malfoy and Ron sitting there. Ron had his back to the door as blond looked up sharply at the newcomers. Though the git had retreated it fast, Harry didn't miss the two seconds that Malfoy's pale hand had rested comfortably on the redhead's thigh. Harry also didn't miss the playful look on his sharp features. However, this soon turned into sneers of extreme abhorrence as he caught sight of the other two boys. Ron turned around on noting the blond's expression and caught Harry's eye. His flushed face immediately broke into a somewhat shaky and almost guilty smile. Harry could only force a grin back, not wanting to think about what _exactly_ they'd interrupted. The small gesture between the friends didn't seem to fair too well with Malfoy, who was far from happy to see Ron diverted… and by Harry of all people. For some strangely perverse reason, Harry felt very smug about the look of pure hatred the pale-faced boy was directing at him. _Yes, Malfoy. I'm still his best friend. So deal. _This time, the grin was far from forced. Malfoy was practically growling at him, eying Neville with similar dislike.

"Oh look. The Boy Who Refuses to Die and the Lump that Unfortunately Lived." Before Harry could open his mouth to say something witty, he was interrupted by his best friend, who just dropped his head in his hands.

"Malfoy…" Ron groaned exasperatedly, not at all his usually fuming countenance. 

"Now that the formalities are over, can we proceed to more important things?" Snape asked in his usual curt tone, though he was eying Ron and Malfoy with a little smirk on his face. Harry blinked in surprise before coming to a conclusion. 

He knew. 

Now, why did Harry have a feeling that the greasy git had accidentally caught them in the act, too? The Boy Who Lived shuddered. Talk about an immediate turn off. Though having Malfoy as your other half was hardly _uplifting _anyway…

"Alas, Severus is right," Dumbledore said, though did look engrossed by the 'friendly' repartee. "Please sit."

And they all did, except Snape, of course, who preferred to hover around like the overgrown bat he was often compared to. McGonagall placed herself between Harry and Ron, with Neville and Malfoy respectively on the boys' sides. The Transfiguration teacher, even at times like these, could smell the danger brewing between the blond and… well, _everyone_ else. 

"What is this about, sir?" Harry asked politely, rather preferring to get this over and done with. Automatically he heard a hiss from his far left.

"Wait for your fucking turn to speak, Saint Potter."

"Language, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall warned, placed safely between the boys. Harry smirked.

"Yeah, Blondie. Watch it. You don't want to get expelled. Oh wait, too late."

"Harry!" Ron's eyes were wide but he actually looked as though he was going to laugh as their gazes met

_"Blondie!"_ Malfoy spat out in outrage. Dumbledore, seated behind his desk, was actually biting his bottom lip while Snape, with his thin lips curled up slightly, looked thoroughly entertained. McGonagall silenced the heated Malfoy with a look and then turned to Harry.

"Mr Potter, don't force me take points from Gryffindor. Now, can we begin?" Harry grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. He was very glad he got to squeeze out the 'Blondie' thing though. That had been rolling around in his head for months. McGonagall was now eying Dumbledore with a stern look.

"Albus, can we begin now? _Please_?" Dumbledore coughed out his chuckle.

"Why yes, of course, Minerva. Excellent idea." The Transfiguration teacher shook her head, mumbling something like 'males' under her breath as Dumbledore put on his most professional look. "Well, yes. To answer Mr Potter's question…" (Harry could not help but throw Malfoy a self-satisfied look) "… This chat is about the Christmas holidays."

Now that was one thing Harry was not expecting. He'd been guessing it was either Voldemort or… well, pretty much Voldemort again. Maybe Dumbledore wanted to give them all a present? How about getting rid of Malfoy? That would be as good as a promise of World Peace.

"Now, I called both Mr Longbottom and yourself Mr Potter since you both, before now, knew of Mr Malfoy's presence here…" the Headmaster gave Malfoy an undecipherable look as Harry just gaped. Damn it, Dumbledore _did _know everything! "And I am presuming that you both have deduced that Mr Malfoy here was the student I mentioned in the previous room?"

Harry nodded. He pretty much guessed if it wasn't him, it would have been Malfoy. Neville nodded truthfully, too, trying not to catch Malfoy's slit-like eye or Snape's piercing black gaze as he did. Seeing this, Dumbledore leant slightly forward and continued.

"Now, since Misters Finnigan and Thomas are both returning home for the holidays with the rest of Gryffindor House, the safest course of action would be to place Draco in Gryffindor Tower until further notice. He is too exposed in the shack. It is a mistake that I will not make again."

Malfoy looked as though he was going to complain because his face had been overtaken by a pink shade but something seemed to be stopping him. After a minute, Harry saw Ron's hand placed almost supportively on top of the Slytherin's. The Boy Who Lived turned away quickly.

"We are relying upon your support and secrecy. Can you both guarantee it?" 

It was practically a rhetorical question. Both Harry and Neville nodded silently again at Dumbledore, who looked truly appreciative for their help, beamed at them both as though they'd just agreed to slay a dragon bare-handed. After insisting that Malfoy stay behind a while, Dumbledore dismissed the other three boys, who walked out dejectedly. Neville looked as though he didn't know what to feel as Harry felt that odd pit in his stomach again. 

Now, why did he feel as though he had just signed his life away? And from the pale look on Ron's face as they descended the moving stairs, he felt the same.

"Sickle for your thoughts," Harry whispered with a shaky smile as the gargoyle hopped back into place. Ron just shook his head, releasing a pained laugh and squeezing his eyes shut.

"I have the worst timed sex life ever." 

Harry tried not to grimace. Now, that was one thing he didn't want to know. He wanted his virtual sickle back and with interest.

And that was when the gargoyle hopped back again and Malfoy swaggered into the hallway, his invisibility cloak clutched in his fist. Harry instantly felt a slight childish anger within him. After all, he was the one who was infamous for the cloak, not Malfoy. The Slytherin flickered his eyes immediately over the redhead (looking very pleased with his findings) and Harry mentally kicked himself for never seeing how obviously he was trying to undress the Gryffindor with his eyes. And he still couldn't believe that Ron actually liked it! For a minute the blond looked between the two of them, his scheming grey eyes far from pleased at their intimacy. However, he soon forced them to take on a bored looking expression as he turned to Ron, completely ignoring Harry's presence.

"Are you coming or what, Weasley?" he asked with a bored drawl. God, how could Ron stand it? He didn't even act as though he gave two shits about him. However, Harry knew the answer that would be given as the sheepish looking redhead turned to him.

"Err… Harry, you don't mind if I go with Malfoy, do you?"  

Dammit, he even called him _Malfoy_. How serious a relationship could it be if they couldn't even use each other's given names? The pleading look in Ron's blue eyes was practically begging him for permission. Harry forced a smile.

"No, of course not. I'll see you later." 

The dark-haired boy tried not to scowl as the pointy-faced git gave him a triumphant smile and slithered his arm like the snake he was around Ron's waist. Before they both disappeared beneath his invisibility cloak, Harry saw a small smile from Ron and a mute mouth of _"It's Ok"_. Stepping back, Harry could only watch helplessly as the invisible Slytherin escorted his equally as invisible best friend out of the hallway, their footsteps slowly dying away. 

It was only when they were out of earshot did Harry kick irritably at the wall again.

* * *

**Draco – An Old Married Couple?**

He wanted to laugh at the situation. And not just laugh, but giggle. Shit, he wanted to giggle like a bloody schoolgirl at how McGonagall kept darting looks of pale, wide-eyed disbelief at Weasley as she escorted both the invisible Slytherin and very visible and blushing Gryffindor through the corridors of Hogwarts. He even wished to titter with immense amusement at the expressions that played on and off the Potions Master's sallow, sardonic face. However, it was severely out of character for Draco Malfoy to even think of doing things as depraved as giggling and tittering. So he merely bit his lip and looked straight ahead. And although he had the added advantage of being under the cloak, to prevent his being seen by the students, Draco disciplined the twitching muscles aching to run amok on his face. Jesus, when did he lose all his fucking control? And why was everyone speeding ahead of him? Scowling irritably to himself, the Slytherin quickened his pace, inwardly insulting his redhead for having such long legs. But then again, mile-length legs weren't such a bad thing, especially from this very flattering angle…

Draco didn't even have to look at Weasley's sexy 'glow-in-the-dark' eared self (although he did it liberally whenever he could) to know the redhead was watching his tattered Weasley trainers again, very aware of McGonagall's searching gaze. She was probably wondering where she had gone wrong as his Head of House. After all, Snape had given Draco the exact same look. He could almost hear the Potions Master smirking, his derisive voice in the young Malfoy's ear…

_"Not just a Gryffindor but a Weasley at that? Dear me, Mr Malfoy... I can safely assure you that your father would not be pleased…"_

His father. The Slytherin hadn't even thought of his father's reaction before now. Before he could stop himself, Lucius Malfoy's pale head swam menacingly (and almost sperm like) before his eyes. For such an attractive man, Draco realised how absolutely hideous he looked. Especially with that odd tadpole tail behind him. And the blond didn't have to imagine too hard about how repulsive the man could be when he was tried. The boy had seen it many times, him usually being the cause of his father's temper. 

Fuck. 

Daddy-dearest already wanted him dead. If Lucius Malfoy ever found out about his now frequent fumbling sessions with Weasel…

Every form of torture from skinning to being married off to Pansy popped into his head. And for some absurd reason he wanted to giggle again. Or maybe tittering would be more appropriate… 

Draco hadn't even been aware that they were heading for the corridor leading to Dumbledore's office but when he'd pulled himself out of his thoughts long enough to note it, he snarled. This is what they had interrupted him for? They'd stopped him from hammering Weasley into the wall to just _talk _to the Headmaster? If this wasn't a matter of life or death he would be extremely pissed off. Fuck, he _was_ extremely pissed off. He was so sick to fucking death of that place. And why couldn't Dumbledore ever bloody visit him for once? 

The Slytherin chose to disregard the voice in his head that pointed out how often the Headmaster _had_ actually called upon him. The Malfoy usually ignored things that didn't please him. Or bored him. Or refused to entertain him. And he greatly enjoyed being entertained and he shot a look at the redhead to punctuate this. Perhaps it was a good thing he was under the cloak; neither McGonagall nor Snape could see the obscene gestures he was making towards his Gryffindor. But unfortunately, Weasley couldn't see them either. Well, a good pinch of his cute little arse should be enough to compensate for that… 

Draco smirked with a very naughty look on his face, feeling far too frisky for his own good. Why not enjoy the privileges of being invisible? 

But they'd arrived in front of the familiar gargoyle just as he reached his pale hand out and with a sudden and unpredictable movement, Snape moved in front of his redheaded groping post. And not even retreating his hand at the last second could have stopped Draco's fingers from almost provocatively touching the Slytherin Head. 

His hand froze rigid, his mouth dropping open when he realised what exactly he'd done. And he noticed that Snape's whole body had promptly frozen, too. 

Oh fuck. 

Of all the gross things he had done in his life, feeling up Snape was definitely the worst. It knocked accidentally tonguing Millicent last Christmas when he was drunk on Butterbeer right off the top spot. And not only that, but the Potions Master had bloody noticed it, too…! His stupid arsing libido! This is what happened when he lost his control… This was all obviously Wanker Weasel's fault!

He waited in dread for his head of house to turn, which he eventually did. _Very_ slowly.

How could Snape's black eyes observe him so accurately when he was in a fucking invisibility cloak? Draco gulped. Twice. 

 "Looking for someone else, Mr Malfoy?" he inquired, his voice silkily soft and dangerous. Draco didn't know what to say, although he did feel his blond head shake at its own accord. After a lengthily silence, in which both McGonagall and Weasley were eying them suspiciously, Weasley craning his neck to get a better view, Snape curtly finished. "Then I suggest for you to keep your hands to yourself." 

He then, with a swish of his black robes, snapped back around to the gargoyle… and did Draco see the hint of a smirk on the usually mordant teacher's face? If it were anyone but Snape, the blond knew he would have drawled something cruel or sneered something awfully cutting at them… But this was _Snape_. A teacher he actually, well… _liked_ somewhat. 

Man, he was turning into a total fucking pansy. It was too much time with Weasley, that's what it was. Brainless Gryffindor. There was a time when he would not just steal candy from a baby but would skilfully pinch their rattle and pram, too, just for the fun of it. And he was proud of it, too… Jesus what was bloody happening to him?

McGonagall eyed his general direction for a while, suspicion lined on every wrinkle on her stern face, before she also turned to the gargoyle. He could feel Weasley also looking at him, biting that irresistibly tasty lip of his fetchingly. Trying to side step subtly (quite impossible with those bloody huge feet of his), he leaned over towards him and Draco felt that irresistible urge to ravish him.

"Were you just feeling up Snape…?" he whispered, an incredulous and disgusted look on his face. Draco felt his own face take on that pink tinge he detested and was very grateful that he couldn't be seen under his cloak's hood. He hated to colour. Screwing up his mouth into a vicious snarl, the Slytherin answered the question with as much eloquence as he could muster in his disposition. 

"Shut the fuck up, Weasel." Then he snapped his head back to hidden doorway, trying to ignore the severely irritating chuckle the other boy was silently shaking with.

"Levitating Sherbet Balls!" 

Snape's bark at the gargoyle sounded even more irritable than in his Potions lessons, which was probably due to the fact that he was forced to say such a password (which sounded terribly wrong coming out of his mouth anyway). And it even seemed as though the stone creature had been scared off by the far from enthusiastic expression on Snape's scowling face because Draco was sure it hopped out the way quicker than he'd ever seen. And he'd seen it fucking plenty. The Slytherin boy couldn't actually accept that he'd once found it vaguely cool. It was now turning into a party trick that was getting tiresomely old. With a brusque turn of his head, Snape wordlessly motioned for them to follow him and the group didn't protest, not even Draco who was forced to walk between the teachers and Weasley. And speaking about Weasley, he was now whispering conspiratorially behind the blond, head bent slightly and looking cheekily amused as he finally ascended the escalator-like stairs. Draco found it more than a little disconcerting as he felt the redhead's warm breath tickle his cheek and the back of his neck. He felt the opening slam shut behind them. Trapped. 

Why was Weasel being so fucking friendly? It's not like they were friends or anything… Draco looked straight ahead, trying to ignore the way the sexy morsel was practically resting his chin on the Malfoy's shoulder from behind. He felt the familiar shiver of Weasley's breath, almost sensual, against his ear. Fuck, everything was sensual around the fine freckled fiend. Even the way the bastard was currently, quite openly, mocking him. 

"You know, if Snape's more your taste, you can tell me, Malfoy," the taller boy hissed softly so only the blond could hear, not bothering to hide his mirth as he smirked. "I mean, that greasy hair is such a giant turn on…"

The Slytherin clenched his jaw tightly as the door to Dumbledore's quarters neared, his back teeth beginning to ache. Why couldn't the git just fucking let it go? It was a bloody accident, for Christ's sake! His grey eyes inadvertently scanned over the lank hair of the Potions master, three or four steps above. _Definitely_ an accident. His anger was beginning to overtake the butterflies fluttering in his stomach, which were first brought on by Weasley's close proximity. 

"Weasley…" he warned with a hiss. That stupid arse. It wasn't fucking funny.

"And that nose… well, you know what they say about men with humongous noses…" Weasley continued to whisper teasingly, pushing his crimson fringe out of his twinkling eyes and causing it to brush silk-like against the other boy's cheek. "And if you think it could work between you and him, you should go for it. I'll just walk away…"

Right, Draco was definitely not happy. And these stupid stairs were taking their time getting to that bloody door! He snapped his head sharply around and spat in pure aggravation.

"You can walk off a fucking cliff for all I fucking care you… you… fuck!"

Oh dear. Not smooth at all. Stupid underprivileged git. He was making a Malfoy tongue-tied! The redhead raised an eyebrow, even more entertained by his ability to make the all powerful and smug Slytherin lose his self-discipline. Arsehole. 

"Overusing a certain word, aren't we, Malfoy?" he grinned, his dimples deepening as far as they could go. Well, of course the Slytherin was going to overuse that word. It's the only thing he thought of whenever Weasley was in the vicinity... However, the stupid git's boyishly handsome smile just pissed him off even more. Draco screwed his face up with every ounce of vindictiveness he could manage as he turned his body completely around.

"Yeah, at least I can afford to, Weasel," he hissed nastily, still trying not to catch McGonagall or Snape's attention. "Second helpings are probably a foreign concept in your world, though second-hand is practically a way of life. It's a shame really, someone has to die so the Weasleys can get clothed."

That undeniably got rid of the infuriating smile. The redhead didn't blush. He didn't even grind his teeth. Weasley just paled and looked hurt. And Draco wasn't enjoying it. Fuck it. Why the heck not? He looked down at his feet, for once averting his eyes. 

"Why do you always have to push things too far?" Weasley mumbled, dropping his own gaze down to the moving stair he was standing on and leaning away from the blond, taking his warmth with him.

Draco was not going to let the Gryffindor make him feel like this.

Weasley was the one talking about his having a relationship with fucking Snape of all people. If that wasn't low, he didn't know what was. He wasn't going to let Weasel make him feel guilty. He didn't care if he did the puppy-dog look. Or the biting of the lip again. Or that self-conscious blush that always managed to turn the Slytherin indisputably on… He just didn't fucking care. Not at all. Draco turned around before his usually buried conscience kicked properly in. With the ascending staircase ride over, his foot finally felt stationary ground beneath it and he allowed McGonagall to mutter a password before he swept passed her irritably. Stupid Weasley. If he didn't want to talk to him and preferred to act like a girl, he didn't care. However, before he could go much further and properly notice all the strange people inside the office, he felt someone grasp at the back of his robes and pull him back. Snape, of course.

"Wrong way, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall said in her usually stern voice, obviously not in the mood for his tantrums. Draco would have smirked at the way she was glaring at his right shoulder instead of his eyes if he were in a less foul mood. Got to love invisibility cloaks…

"Oh, so where are we going then?" he sneered, intent on hiding his best behaviour under layers of denial. And his brat-like temper.

"Watch your manners, Draco," Snape warned dangerously, oddly using his first name and successfully catching his eye. The boy didn't miss the hint of paternal caution in his eye. Or Weasley merely eying him with a familiar red-faced scowl from behind the Transfiguration teacher. The Malfoy snorted, allowing Snape to escort him subtly around the crowds and to another room within the office. A room that, once opened, included Albus Dumbledore himself. 

The boy felt the cloak being whipped briskly from his shoulders.

The Headmaster looked up from the parchment he was scratching his quill upon and smiled at his guests. He motioned to the chairs before his desk as he quickly pushed the paper aside and placed his quill in the ink well. McGonagall, Draco and Weasley promptly sat, Snape favouring to stand. Now, why did the pale boy have a feeling he was being watched by his Potions Master intently?

As he wondered this, the Headmaster cleared his throat, preparing to begin.  

"I must firstly apologise to both Misters Weasley and Malfoy here for the… well, _untimely_ interruption." The old codger was glowing in that mischievous way again, obviously guessing what they'd been doing. Weasley, being the predictable fuck he was, blushed down to his roots of his hair. Draco merely snorted again, deciding how he didn't find that attractive in the slightest. Not at all. "But your presences were mandatory. Now, Mr Malfoy, I have a meeting to begin so I must be brief," Dumbledore began, leaning forward and indeed speaking faster than usual. "It has been decided that it is not safe for your continued residence at the 'Shrieking Shack'. Although the charms placed around it are indeed complex and very complicated, we've been provided with information…" Here he looked up at Snape, who had a stony look about him. "… That the allies of the Dark Lord are equipped with the knowledge of many reversal spells. I shall explain your living arrangements in due time but I must now quickly inquire something of you. Something that is of grave importance."

Draco did _not_ like the sound of this. Or the almost pained look on the Headmaster's suddenly ancient looking face. Whatever Dumbledore wanted from him, he had a feeling it wasn't going to be pretty.

"You can of course reject this assignment but I would greatly wish for you to contemplate it before declining immediately..." The old man's eyes were imploring. To the blond's surprise, before he could even ask what this 'assignment' was, Snape suddenly stepped forward.

"Dumbledore, I'm still not sure if he's old enough to even consider…"

"Consider what?" Draco asked warily, uncharacteristically cutting off the Potions Master mid-sentence. McGonagall looked at the Headmaster, her expression also pained as Weasley looked just as confused as he felt. 

Fuck. He'd never seen Dumbledore look so strained. His clasped hands, which were usually so still, were actually shaking slightly. The Slytherin inadvertently gulped at the sight, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to his question as the headmaster looked suddenly sad.

And then he said it.

"How would you feel about going back home, Draco?" 

He'd always though the phrase 'heart dropping to your stomach' was an understatement. Well it fucking wasn't. The perspiration gathering upon his upper lip was the only giveaway on his well-practiced poker face.

"About as good as someone about to be killed," he tried to joke, but it came out as a retort. Those bastard fucks! They wanted to send him to certain death just so he could be a spy! A spy! A fucking cowardly two-faced Scab! The redhead looked from the headmaster to the Malfoy, eyes wide and mouth open. And Draco could feel those emotion filled eyes boring into him. Why couldn't he _just_ piss off? Right now, he wasn't sure if he could take his stupid 'brave and noble' ways.

"What I mean, Draco…" Dumbledore started again, trying to sound more soothing. As if calling him by his first name was going to soften him up… "…Is would your father believe your intentions for returning were innocent?"

"You mean would he hex me on sight?" the Slytherin let out a harsh bark of a laugh, which sounded so alien coming from him. To be honest, he was probably in a mild state of hysteria. "If you want me to be honest, I'll tell you that I don't fucking know. Lucius is stupid enough to take me back. He needs an heir and he's too old to produce another. Is that what you want to hear? Want to know if the space on my arm can fit the Dark Mark comfortably? Want me to report back and tell you what fucking Death Eater Youth Camp is like?" 

Nobody answered. And Draco, somewhere in the back of his mind, realised that no one had scolded him on his language. And in that very place, he could also see Potter and Voldemort playing with Barbie dolls. There was an uncomfortable hush around the room for a while until a very small voice suddenly said,

"He's not going back there."

Draco raised his head in surprise and looked at the speaker. Then he narrowed his eyes. 

"Shut up, Weasley." But Weasley looked determined, his eyes flashing dangerously as he held himself very stiffly to his seat.

"I'm not letting you, Malfoy." Draco blinked. He couldn't believe the audacity of the prick!

"What are you, my fucking mother?!" he spat out angrily.

"Do you really think that I'm just going to sit back and let you go?!" Weasley suddenly burst out, looking extremely pissed off. "I've seen the scars on you, if no one else has, you git! He'll kill you if you go back!"

What the heck did he know about anything?! Let alone the Malfoy family? He was just a poor, insignificant Weasley who couldn't spare two Knuts to start a fire with…! The blond found himself snarling with contempt with fury dripping from his voice.

"It's not your bloody decision!" 

"Oh yes it is!" 

They stopped for a pause, both breathing heavily and eying the other with extreme dislike. It was at times like these when Draco remembered why he wanted Weasley so much. But he didn't try to kiss him or imagine lewd sexual plays in his head. The Slytherin sneered nastily instead.

"You think a couple of gropes mean we're a proper couple, Weasel?" 

The room grew uncomfortably silent as the other occupants (who both boys had forgotten) shifted awkwardly, but neither Draco nor Ron cared as they glared at each other. "Get over yourself. No one tells me what I can and can't do. Especially not you…"

"As I stated, this matter does not need to be answered at this instant," Dumbledore suddenly cut in, looking actually quite sternly at them both. They slumped back in their seats, both still fuming on the inside. The Headmaster pushed back his chair and stood up. "Now, I must away to begin the meeting. I have left it too late as it is. Minerva, Severus, will you please accompany me to the main office?" The teachers had all got to their feet and made their way forward. Snape opened the door for McGonagall and stepped aside, waiting for the Headmaster. The latter gentleman turned to face them, a small smile on his lips. 

"We shall be back," Dumbledore assured. "Please stay here." With one last hard look from the Potions Master as Dumbledore swept passed him, the door was shut. And then they were alone.

It was weird, the anger had gone as soon as it had appeared. Oh, don't misunderstand, the Slytherin was still pissed but he was more, well… pensive. Numb. And unsure what to do or think. It was an emotion Draco Malfoy was unconfident and inexperienced with… and he didn't like it one sodding bit.

They just sat in silence, neither knowing what to say and Draco honestly not giving a shit. He just rocked slightly on his seat, pursing his lips and wondering trivial things such as how much the mark would hurt and what his gravestone would look like. He could feel Weasley looking over at him as subtly as he could under his red-blond lashes, shifting slightly in awkwardness. Feeling the gaze after a full minute, Draco looked up with his cold grey eyes and gave the redhead a contemplative look. Neither of them looked angry any more. Weasley probably just wanted to avoid the situation altogether. Which, unfortunately, _he_ didn't have the luxury of doing…

Fuck it, he was thinking of it again. 

Almost as a last resort, Draco reached over and started fingering the loose threads around the hole in the knee of the Gryffindors jeans, still not saying a word. He didn't want to think. Not about Lucius, not about the 'assignment' and definitely not about the argument with Weasley. 

So he focused on the jeans. 

He actually remembered a time when he would have laughed derisively at Weasley's clothes, thinking hard for the cruellest retort to come sneering out of this mouth. Now the tables had seemed to have turned. The small yet tempting square of flesh was almost teasing him. Like a peek show; look but don't even think that you'll ever see it all... Stupid fucking jeans. He hated them. He preferred them off Weasley. To be honest, he preferred everything off Weasley. 

The redhead was biting his lip in a very enticing way, watching Draco's silent musings with slight trepidation. Trying to read the other boy's mind was probably the last thing in the world he could manage.

"What are you thinking?" he finally asked, almost warily. The blond didn't lift up his eyes, although he did try his hardest to smirk at the question.

"How much I want to see you naked."

It was almost too easy making the Weasel blush. His entire face went red as he lowered his embarrassed gaze to look at his knee being fondled instead.

"Malfoy..." he insisted in a 'not in public' tone. Draco raised his smouldering looking eyes from the fraying threads. Weasley slowly lifted his own eyes to match the Slytherin's, his face still overtaken by the deepest flush. Perhaps the blond had found the greatest distraction to all his problems… 

Draco licked his lips. The Weasel seemed to have stopped breathing. Gotcha.

"But I do..." he said in a seductive, throaty voice, his gaze dangerously steady. Knowing he had already won. Wanting to forget that stupid assignment... and why the fuck would he take it anyway? It would only aid the people in the Wizarding world that he'd been brought up to hate. Now, why would he do a thing like that? His fingertips had bored of the threads and were now gently stroking the redhead's bare knee. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imagine the biggest diversion of them all. "... I want to see you without a stitch of clothing on. I want to see you lying on green silk sheets and squirming as I run my hands up the insides of your thighs, separating them sufficiently apart so I can see my prize..." He let out a breathy exhale, his fingers absently creeping up as he spoke. Now, why did he have a sudden feeling of déjà vu? 

"Malfoy..." Weasley said again, this time in a deeper, undeniably turned on voice, pleading for him to stop his sexy ministrations. 

"And you know what I'd do next?" Draco pressed on, ignoring his plea. Weasley could only shake his head. The Slytherin snapped his eyes open.

"I'd fuck your pretty little brains out."

And that was when the door opened. Weasley looked almost relieved. Draco smirked sardonically as he leant back into his chair. Fornicating in the Headmaster's study was obviously not his redhead's thing, although he had a feeling that exhibitionism was pretty much a Gryffindor trait. Oh well, there was always later on... However, the blond was soon very disrupted from his thoughts when he saw the two boys who had entered the room with McGonagall, Snape and Dumbledore. His face automatically took on a genuine scowl, especially when he caught the quick grins Weasel and Potter threw at each other. He could feel a premature growl vibrating within his throat.

"Oh look. The Boy Who Refuses to Die and the Lump that Unfortunately Lived." 

"Malfoy…" Weasley groaned as dropped his head in his hands. And Draco glowered. Well, what the fuck did the redhead expect him to do? Welcome them in with open legs? Even the thought made him feel physically ill.

"Now that the formalities are over, can we proceed to more important things?" Snape had a peculiar smirk on his face, his eyes flicking over the redhead and the blond and clearly saying, '_I know about you two…_'

"Alas, Severus is right," Dumbledore sighed, his own face twitching with a smile. "Please sit."

The Slytherin watched Potter very carefully, his teeth already bared as everyone but Snape took their place. As long as he didn't sit near him or speak in that fucking annoying whine of his, Draco was sure he'd survive this talk without killing, or at least maiming, the four-eyed bastard. However, he didn't have such luck.

"What is this about, sir?" Potter asked, trying to sound all bloody concerned. And having the fucking conceit to start the talk that Dumbledore was supposed to. The Malfoy growled. Stupid arrogant prick. 

"Wait for your fucking turn to speak, Saint Potter." McGonagall sharply turned her head to look at him.

"Language, Mr Malfoy," she forewarned. Why the heck was everyone always on Potter's side? And why was the git smirking at him like that!? Potter crossed his arms over his chest, leaning forward with a smug look.

"Yeah, Blondie. Watch it. You don't want to get expelled," he almost drawled. "Oh wait, too late."

"Harry!" Weasley cried out but Draco was too outraged to heed his redhead. That stupid bastard Pothead! 

_"Blondie!"_

McGonagall cut in, however, before the blond jumped out his seat and walloped the shit out of him. 

"Mr Potter, don't force me take points from Gryffindor. Now, can we begin? Albus, can we begin now? _Please?_" Shit, the Transfiguration teacher actually on his side for once? 

"Why yes, of course, Minerva. Excellent idea," Dumbledore agreed, looking far more amused than Draco liked. "Well, yes. To answer Mr Potter's question…" He didn't miss the triumphantly smug look Potter threw at him. The Malfoy immediately felt Weasley's hand on his own, forcibly restraining him from attacking the prick. "… This chat is about the Christmas holidays. Now, I called both Mr Longbottom and yourself Mr Potter since you both, before now, knew of Mr Malfoy's presence here…And I am presuming that you both have deduced that Mr Malfoy here was the student I mentioned in the previous room?" Potter nodded again, and to cheer himself up Draco started to threateningly eye Longbottom with Snape. With great satisfaction, he watched the chubby boy squirm as he also nodded. "Now, since Misters Finnigan and Thomas are both returning home for the holidays with the rest of Gryffindor House, the safest course of action would be to place Draco in Gryffindor Tower until further notice. He is too exposed in the shack. It is a mistake that I will not make again."

It took a while to sink in. Then Draco dropped open his mouth. What the fuck?! Him? In the bloody Gryffindor Tower? Could things get more humiliating? He felt his face burn again and the hand Weasley had placed on his held him back even more. The redhead threw him a subtle look which the Slytherin could easily interpret - _'Don't argue, Malfoy. It's for your own good'_. 

Since when did they become such a fucking couple? Draco bit his lip and dropped his eyes to his and Weasley's clasped hands, faintly catching Dumbledore's words requesting for him to stay behind as his mind began to blur. But he wasn't paying attention or watching the scene. Not even as Potter, Longbottom and Weasley stood to leave. Still glaring at his hand, he watched Weasley pull his larger hand from his own pale one and heard a soft whisper in his ear that he'd be waiting outside. And then the door shut. It was Dumbledore's voice that brought him out of his strange daze and Draco finally raised his eyes to him. The Headmaster was giving him a small smile. Then he motioned to the space to the left of the Slytherin.

"Your cloak, Draco." The boy blinked. He hadn't even noticed that it had been put there. Unsure what the look on Dumbledore's face meant, he leant down and clawed his left hand around the silvery material, never taking his piercing pale eyes from the Headmaster's. After placing the cloak on his lap (creating an effect that made it seem as though someone had chopped from his hips to his knees), he didn't need to wait long for the older man to speak. "I can only imagine how difficult this is for you, and I cannot put into account how dangerous a task it is. But I do ask for you to consider all options before you answer. Sleep on it, Draco. Give us your decision when you are sure of it." 

He suddenly felt the anger boiling within him again as Dumbledore gave him another reassuring smile and McGonagall, seated beside him, looked wary. Draco bit the inside of his cheek so hard he was sure he'd punctured through his gum. He flicked his eyes shut. 

"I'm not going back," he managed to croak. "I don't need fucking time to think about it. I'm not sacrificing myself for a bunch of Mudbloods and do-gooders." Snape muttered something under his breath that sounded quite like _'Idiot boy'_ while Dumbledore only let out a deep sigh, as though he already knew the answer.

"If that is your decision…" 

"Yes, it bloody is," the Slytherin cut in, eyes now open. "Can I go now?" 

However, he had already pushed his chair back, turned and stormed passed Snape, his cloak in his fist as practically ran his way through the crowds and down the stairs to Weasley. And it was only when he was on the stairs did he start hitting his fists crazily against the handrail, trying to break it with his anger. 

Those bastards!!! Those cunting shits! To actually look down on him?! Expecting him to walk straight into a fucking trap! It was _his_ life in danger, _his_ body they were going to maim and torture… and they had the gall to make _him_ feel bad for refusing!

The gargoyle hopped aside before he could smash at it with his fist. Grinding his teeth, he attempted self-control. Nobody could see him like this. Shit, nobody should see him anyway. And Potter… he wouldn't give the git the satisfaction of seeing him so out of it. With a ragged sigh, he flicked his hair out of his eyes and tried to strut out the entrance. He found his eyes distracted and immediately scanning over his redhead approvingly. Then he scowled at who was with him. Why the hell were Weasley and Potter standing so close? He stepped towards them with an expression of nonchalance on his face, trying to ignore the stirrings of jealousy in his stomach and the scowl Potter was throwing at him. His fingers were itching to punch him and before he knew he'd said it, the words came spilling out of him.

"Are you coming or what, Weasley?" Weasley threw Potter a sheepish grin. Draco felt his heart leap slightly. Did that mean what he thought it meant?

"Err… Harry, you don't mind if I go with Malfoy, do you?" The blond gave him the best smirk he could. He'd spent six years as Weasley's enemy and he'd still chosen him over the great Harry Potter…! 

"No, of course not." Potter looked as though the smile was fixed painfully on his face. "I'll see you later."

Gathering Weasley underneath his cloak, Draco made a show of slipping his arm around him and smirking infuriatingly at The Boy Who Lived. However, he let go as soon as they were unseen and was actually beginning to regret his decision. He wasn't really in the mood to entertain a guest. Whether offering Weasley tea and crumpets or sex on the dining room table. All he could see in his head right now was his father, which really put a dampener on how turned on you could get.

They didn't talk much on the way to the Shack and they hardly touched one another, which was quite a feat considering that the cloak was barely big enough for two. He could feel Weasley's invisible eyes flicking over him occasionally and he could even imagine the look of worry on his face. But the blond didn't speak. To be honest, he didn't think he could even handle interaction with another person in his current temper. So why had he taken Weasley with him? And he knew the answer straight away. To get him away from Potter… because the redhead was one of the few people whose presence he could actually stand to be around. And it was a scary thought. Even once they had reached the Shack and finally pulled the cloak off they didn't speak. It was pure awkwardness. The Gryffindor didn't seem to know what to say and could probably read the unsociable aura around Draco. However, he looked like he was bursting with a question. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but then closed it again. The Slytherin lounged into a sofa, watching the boy by the door without inviting him to sit. He raised an eyebrow at the redhead's actions then finally shook his head as it continued for another few minutes. And Draco Malfoy wasn't known for his patience.

"Weasley, what ever you want to say, just fucking say it. You're beginning to piss me off."

Weasley pressed his lips together, looking slightly offended before caginess took over. Then he practically blurted out,

"Why me?" 

The Slytherin blinked. What the heck was he talking about?

"Why you what?" Draco snapped, crossing his arms. He really wasn't in the shitting mood for this…

"Why did you… well, want _me_?" Weasley asked softer and self-consciously, shrugging his shoulders to show his confusion and slight embarrassment. Where the hell had that come from? But the blond could see the underlying look in those eyes. Weasley wanted to know what he meant to him. Draco rolled his eyes. He wasn't in the fucking frame of mind for soppy love declarations. 

"Because you were easy and I knew you'd put out, ok?" he spat nastily, but soon afterwards groaned and raked his hand through his hair. "Listen, just…" He didn't know what to say. He looked up at the boy again, who was still standing by the door, looking confused and concerned by his expression and also a bit peeved off by his original answer. Draco hated this. He bloody hated having to explain himself… But he didn't want the boy to go back to that bespectacled excuse for a Wizard, did he? Now, how had he always got his way around the Weasel? 

Sex.

He stood up languidly, trying to look as desirable as he could with his slowed, approaching movements.

"Stay," he whispered, pulling Weasley's tie towards him and trying out his most seductive voice, his eyes clouding over. With his faultless act, nobody could mistake what his intentions were to do to the boy. Not even Longbottom, who still thought babies came from garden seeds. Weasley immediately averted his gaze, his body went stiff and he shook his head slightly, his face looking sardonically amazed by the Slytherin's method of changing the subject. 

"Nice try, Malfoy. I've got Quidditch Practise and I'm already missing Care of Magical Creatures. And I promised Harry that I…" Draco narrowed his eyes at the sound of _that_ name. 

"Coward," he snarled, throwing the tie down. If Weasel wanted to play Virgin Mary, he couldn't care less. He only offered because he thought that was what the stupid Gryffindor wanted. He didn't even know why he even fucking bothered. "Fine, piss off then. Like I'd want to shack up with a loser like you anyway." 

Then the blond spun around crossly and went to pack his things for the Christmas holidays. It was after a full minute, and when Draco was folding his robes into his trunk, when he heard the shuffle of feet and Weasley quietly leave. And he'd let him go. Straight into the arms of the Mudblood and especially fucking Potter. 

He really was a complete idiot sometimes.


	17. I'm Not in Denial 17a

**Ron – A New Room Mate **

For the first time in his life, Ron hadn't been looking forward to the Christmas Holidays. Usually, he would have been groaning loudly about the monotonous classes leading up to break and pronouncing every teacher that had set him with holiday homework as 'an evil sadist'. But instead of eagerly ticking off the days from his calendar, the redhead had been trying to cling desperately to his school days as much as Hermione. She mistook this sudden uncharacteristic nature as him finally applying himself and caring about his education, which she smugly put down to her own influence. In reality though, Ron had just wanted to keep the heck away from Malfoy. It had been five whole days since he'd last talked to the blond, and their very last encounter had ended awkwardly. And the redhead knew that the end of the holidays meant the beginning of a fortnight of having to live with the arrogant little git. Which also meant that any minute now, Draco Malfoy would be swaggering into the Gryffindor common room with his irritating smirk plastered to his face. Ron felt his stomach dissolve at the thought of it, sinking in dread into the armchair he was in as his eyes warily eyed the portrait hole. He didn't know if he could face him… especially without punching him in his stupid, pointed face. He was just such a complete wanker sometimes and the Gryffindor was seriously starting to get pretty sodding fed up with his sarky temper. 

Malfoy was completely barking. There was nothing else to it. Well, besides him being an evil little shit as well. And Ron didn't know why he put up with it. Why did he let Malfoy do this to him? Make him all nervous and sweaty and stuff with just a thought? How did he manage to get to him every single time? Maybe if he borrowed Harry's invisibility cloak Ron could just hide from him for two weeks…

And anyway, it wasn't like Malfoy even cared about him or anything. All he wanted him for was a quick grope. Wasn't like he ever thought about his feelings… so why did Ron even try to be nice to him? The stupid arse never appreciated it when he stuck up for him or tried to spend time with him. And why did he want to anyway? Malfoy was just a spoilt little brat who hated everyone and refused help from anyone. So why the heck was he so worried that the heartless bastard was in danger?

And _why_ the hell couldn't he bloody well stop eying him up whenever he saw him anyway?! Why did his wandering eyes always betray him by immediately focusing on how well his robes fit him or how good his hair looked? Ron'd never done it before... well, _ok_, the redhead had always grudgingly admitted to himself that the little prick was attractive... but everyone noticed things like that, didn't they? You couldn't _not_ notice the Slytherin was, you know... all right looking. It just made Ron observant. That's all. Right?

Oh, bugger this all for a lark. He really didn't know why he bothered to think so much.

Ron suddenly cursed himself profusely for not escaping the country beforehand. Or at least going home for the holidays like Ginny and the twins had… but he knew why he stayed. Harry. He'd stayed for Harry, like he had done every year before that. What kind of a friend would he have been if he left him alone with Neville to face the ever-changing mood swings and ever-present violent spells of the Slytherin? Besides, it was all Ron's fault anyway. If he had just pushed Malfoy off the bed that night before Neville and Harry had found out… 

Man, he was just glad that Hermione didn't share their dorm. He flinched at the thought of what she'd have to say to him, from words of outrage to the use of proper protection during intercourse…

Just yesterday, both he and Harry had gone to Hogsmeade Station to bid Hermione, the other Gryffindors and pretty much the rest of the school, goodbye. It seemed that Hermione had guests at home and had to return to spend Christmas with her family. However, she didn't leave without giving them their presents and bone crushingly tearful hugs on the platform, making them promise to write to her if anything 'happened' and to keep each other out of trouble in her absence. Ron reminded her with a roll of his eyes that she'd only be gone for two weeks but he silently knew he'd probably soon be counting down the days till her return. It felt strange. It was usually only the three of them left in the Gryffindor tower and Ron knew, as much as he didn't want to admit it, that he would actually miss Hermione. Especially since her place was being replaced by not just Neville but…

Ron shivered. Just thinking about _him_ made him feel sick with nerves and made goosebumps the size of Tokyo automatically sprout from his arms. The stupid ferrety little arse. He hated his guts. He really did.

"Hey." 

Ron looked up at the voice and let out a weak smile. Harry was standing above him with a concerned and slightly nervous look on his face. But the boy also had his chessboard tucked under his arm. He seemed to know Ron too well for his own good. Good old Harry. Thrashing Harry at a good game always cheered him up. And Neville also seemed to be in on 'Operation: Make Ron smile' as he watched the interaction from the couch by the fire with wide eyes, stroking Trevor as he looked on hopefully. Ron, by some means, managed a rather cheeky grin at them both, making the podgier boy smile in slight relief and let out the breath he was holding in.

"Hey back," Ron said, then motioned to the board. "Carrying that for your health, are you?" Harry laughed.

"Yeah, chess is good for the heart, I hear. Wanna check out that theory, _Weasley_?" Ron smirked as he crossed his arms and leaned into his seat. Why not? After all, Harry was trying so hard to teasingly rile him up…

"_Potter_, how can it be good for the heart when you'll obviously be in a coronary when I'm done with you?" Harry snorted good-naturedly.

"Aaah, a modest threat. Care to put your brainpower where your unusually large mouth is, Chess boy?"

"You're on!" 

Harry grinned as he pulled up a chair. He set down his chess box and Ron noticed that his friend had brought Ron's white chessmen as well as his own black pieces with him. The redhead smiled fondly. The conniving bugger was forcing him to go first. Well, it was the least he could do before beating the boy to oblivion. He grinned cockily to himself as he pulled out the pieces and nimbly placed them on the chequered squares, after all, the redhead probably knew how to set up a chessboard quicker than anything else in existence. Neville, still holding Trevor, vacated his seat by the fire to sit by the boys and watch the proceedings, gazing enraptured and extremely confused as he tried to pick up a thing or two. Ron smirked slightly. Poor Neville. Even that tiny nutter Dennis Creevy had beaten him. The kid had to practically stand on his stool to reach his pieces on the other side of the board. Managed to checkmate poor Neville in only eight moves. Ron leaned back in his chair and focused, wondering with an immodest smirk if he could beat Harry in less than that…

The game had started like it always had, Harry retaliating to Ron's tame opening by introducing his knight. Later on, the corners of the redhead's mouth had quivered slightly as he feigned complete indifference, watching Harry place his black Queen right into his opponent's trap. He obviously hadn't noticed that Ron's Bishop (who was quite a letch) was eying her in a most vulgar fashion and darting triumphant looks at the redhead's Rook, which had aided him in cornering her. However, Harry had noticed this development (and the Rook's dirty tongue gestures) at the last minute, just before he was about to take the dramatically-acting pawn that Ron had purposely placed tantalisingly to distract him. And now the Boy Who Lived was taking so long making his move that his chess pieces were beginning to doze off. His surviving Rook was resting on his panicky Queen's shoulder and snoring loudly. Ron's chessmen, who were acquainted for much longer, seemed to be doing a dance that strangely resembled the Macarena. His Knight and Queen were giggling in the corner and getting closer by the second. He waited impatiently for Harry to stop touching the top of his chessmen tentatively and actually move one. If he didn't hurry soon and let Ron separate his horny chesspieces as quickly as he could, they would probably start doing obscene things to one another. And putting his finger between them only made them poke at him with their weapons. Nursing his hand, Ron huffily realised how bloody painful their little swords (and teeth) actually were. Stupid little gits. Thankfully, the live adult show was interrupted when Harry's face soon split into a triumphant look of relief and he lifted his arm and picked up his Queen to move her…

And that was when it happened. 

The portrait swung creakily open and a person, who clashed with everything in sight, strolled lazily and almost ceremoniously in. Green robes stuck out ugly against the red and gold décor and the pale hair looked almost washed out and faded. Like a black and white character on a Technicolor canvas. Yet he still managed to look good, didn't he? Red faced, Ron snapped his head sharply back to the board before he caught his eye and crossed his long arms childishly.

The familiar figure flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his impeccable robes before lifting his head and making a face. The Malfoy was looking carefully around, his grey eyes surveying his new territory. Ron could feel those eyes boring into the side of his face more than a few times and he began to bitterly wonder when he officially became property of Draco Malfoy. He clenched his teeth and stared almost painfully hard at his Queen (who was now making out heavily on the board floor with his Knight), refusing to comply by the Malfoy's silent wish for him to look at him. If the stupid git wanted a reaction, he would have to bloody well make the first move. So there. 

And he actually did. 

"Could this place get any more gaudy?" the pale blond asked haughtily, his sharp eyes scanning about a Gryffindor flag as he pulled a face in distaste. "Trust you Gryffindors to show off…"

Harry snorted again, turning to look at the Slytherin and temporarily forgetting that it was his move as he slammed his piece down anywhere. Ron noted dryly that the blond's presence had one plus point; Harry had just put himself in check. But Harry hadn't seemed to have noticed. 

"And trust a Slytherin to complain as soon as he gets here." Malfoy rounded on Harry, his eyes narrowed slits when he'd perceived who had spoken. He snarled.

"Well, trust a Gryffindor to be arrogant enough to try and teach manners…" 

"Yeah, and trust a Slytherin to think it's arrogant when they're the most conceited of all the houses!" Malfoy didn't seem to like that. His face had turned more red than pink as he hissed menacingly. 

"And trust a fucking Gryffindor to be such a complete and total cu-"

"Could you both just quit it with the trust talk?!" Ron suddenly cried out, throwing his arms up in the air in defeat as he lost his battle to be silent. Neville jumped and yelped somewhat with the sudden outburst. 

Before the redhead could look away, the Malfoy snapped into his gaze. He smiled a soft, perverse little smile as his eyes unashamedly took in every inch of the redhead's body. In front of Harry and Neville and everything! Ron was glad he was sitting down, suddenly feeling all jelly legged. He could feel his face growing hot and lobster red under the scrutiny and wondered uncomfortably if this is what girls felt like…

"_Weasley_," Malfoy hissed with a sensuous, taunting smile, his eyes running extensively down the redhead. Teasing little arse. Ron tried not to lick his dry lips as he harassed himself to look at the boy staunchly. Whatever twisted little game the stupid git was playing, he could match him. Easy. 

After what felt like an hour, Malfoy finally raised his eyes until their gazes locked solidly again. "And here I was thinking that you'd lost the ability to speak." 

"Only to you, Malfoy." He would have whooped for being able to actually speak, let alone without shaking. There was silence for a while. Harry was still glowering at the blond for calling him a 'complete and total cu-' and Neville was darting his eyes back and forth, watching the interaction while biting his bottom lip. Malfoy soon tilted his head, his hair falling over his eyes as the smile grew cruel. The tips of Ron's fingers itched.

"Why?" the pale boy asked with mock naivety. "Throat clogged up? Swallowed too much Malfoy juice into your bloodstream to form a coherent sentence…?

"There was no swallowing of juices!" Ron cried out, his face tomato red in mortification at the implications as he turned to Harry and Neville imploringly. "He's lying! We didn't ever… um, well, _you know_…" Neville's mouth dropped open, then he blushed and averted his eyes to stroke Trevor while Harry did the opening and shutting of his mouth thing again. 

The youngest Weasley boy wanted to disappear. He wanted to evaporate into nothing right now. But not before ripping that pleased smirk off Malfoy's features. Why did the little rodent get such pleasure out of making Ron feel clumsy and stupid? And why in the name of Dobby's tea cosy did he still want this conceited, cruel-hearted little shit?

Malfoy's face actually broke into a grin at his red expression as he sidled passed the three speechless boys and then dropped down into the couch Neville had been in. He raised his legs up onto the armrest, crossed them at the ankle and rested one arm on the back of the couch, lounging comfortably as though he were at home.*

The three Gryffindors stared at each other, then at the intruder in absolute awe and, in Neville's case, fear.

Malfoy was now studying the walls, his eyes focused in concentration. A slow smile spread on his lips as he looked at the name under the Gryffindor notice board.

"In charge of the notice board, Longbottom?" He smirked a little too attractively for Ron's liking as he turned to Neville, who had blushed crimson in self-consciousness. "Nice to see they set you something taxing. Then again, with your track record…"

"Shut the hell up, Malfoy," Ron warned dangerously, his fists quaking under the table and shooting the boy with a look that told him that it didn't matter how much he wanted to snog him or shag him from every angle, Ron would still wipe the floor with him.

"Yeah, good on you, Neville," Harry said, smiling reassuringly at his hurt looking friend then darting a look of severe dislike at Draco. The Slytherin looked even more entertained and he lounged deeper into the chair.

"Oh yes, good on you, Longbottom." He sneered nastily with a cold smile. Ron's face was scowling in deepest loathing as he willed his rage away. He squeezed his eyes shut. He could do this, he could be calm… "At this rate, you could be appointed in the kitchens as a House Elf. Or how about helping out Filch? He's a squib too, you know. You'd get along famously. In fact, take Granger with you while you're at it. We don't need anymore of you dirtying up the school…"

His eyes snapped open as fast as lightning. 

That was it… that was the last sodding straw!

First he'd bloody waltzed in like he owned the place, _Ron's_ place, then he insulted poor Neville, and _then_ the little shit picked on Hermione as well! And to top it all off, the stupid git had the cheek to look all sexy and alluring while he did it!

The redhead wasn't just going to hurt him, he was going to rip him apart, limb from limb, with his bare hands! 

Both Harry and Ron leapt from their seats but Ron was the quicker, pouncing on top of the relaxed Slytherin savagely, using his flailing arms to pound into him furiously. However, his fists had only connected three times before he heard an almost amused drawl underneath him.

"Imobialatus…"

Immediately, the fist he had been aiming at the boy's face froze in mid-air. In fact, Ron's whole body had frozen rigid.

What the…?

His eyes widened in panic as he attempted to move the leg digging into the Malfoy's hip. It refused to budge. The leg, like the rest of him, was tingling numbly like he had pins and needles. 

He looked down at Malfoy, who was smirking up at him and looking generally very pleased with himself, waving his wand right under Ron's nose. 

Dirty Slytherin trick!

"What the hell did you do to him, Malfoy?!" Harry stormed forward and whipped out his own wand, a look of anger and hysterical worry on his face. "Take… take it off!" Neville was also fumbling for his wand, initially dropping it to the floor before clumsily picking it up again and finally holding it out with a shaking hand and a pale, anxious-looking face.

Ron was absolutely fuming.

"You bastard, Malfoy!" He did a double take straight after he said this. Hey, would you look at that. His mouth still worked.

"Weasley, don't force me to Petrificus Totalus your arse," the blond purred wickedly, looking thoroughly proud of his actions. He lifted a pale finger to trace the outline of Ron's upper lip with a teasing smile. The redhead bullied himself with all his willpower not to flick his tongue out and lick at it. "Wouldn't want to miss any dirty talk from your pretty little lips. Now, tell them that you're fine and to take their wands off me…"

"Malfoy…" Ron growled, his rigid back muscles beginning to hurt with the strain of staying still. It even hurt to move his facial muscles. How the hell had the pint-sized son of a bitch managed to get the upper hand against the three of them? Noting his pause, Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he suddenly lunged up and grabbed a fistful of Ron's hair, causing the boy to hiss slightly as their foreheads knocked together. The redhead cursed himself for enjoying this treatment so much. Bloody loony he was becoming…

"Say it, Weasley…!" Malfoy warned with a soft malevolence, his eyes piercing from this close up. His cold scent strangely intoxicating as his hand pressed bruisingly against the redhead's thigh. Ron tried to nod, his eyes and forehead still glued to Malfoy's, the blond's warm breath upon his face. Ron grinded his teeth, managing to repress a shaky gulp as he breathed heavily through his nose. He talked almost robotically. 

"Guys, I'm fine. Just spiffing. Corking. Really. You can lower 'em." 

The Slytherin let out a breathy, shuddering exhale before he leant back down to lie on the sofa again, the pressure on the thigh lessening as his fingers traced idly in comforting spherical patterns. The Malfoy, however, soon tore his almost soothing gaze away and turned his head to Harry, lifting his hand to point his wand right between Ron's eyes. How he managed to have placed the wand so precisely without even looking at him was a complete mystery to the redhead. He was bloody impressed, although he was still thinking up painful ways to make the Slytherin pay for this. Meanwhile, Harry's grip on his wand tightened and he looked determined. Malfoy just smiled nastily again.

"Do it, Potter, and you'll regret it. You know how many Dark Arts spells I know. And Longbottom, do you even know how to use that thing?" Ron could practically hear Neville's teeth chattering.  He knew he should have been worried about his face, especially because this was Draco Malfoy of all people… but the death threat seemed… well, kinda hollow. Or maybe he reckoned that because he knew the short git so well…

He guessed that they'd lowered their wands because the Slytherin's face lit up in a beatifically evil grin. He looked back at Ron again as he licked his lips, his suddenly dark eyes shining. 

"Now tell them to leave the room."

"Ron, we're not leaving you alone with him!" Harry suddenly burst out. Ron could just about make out his frantic best friend from the corner of his eye. Damn, he really wished he could turn his head… "He's a masochist! He's only been here two seconds and he's already put you in a binding curse!" 

Malfoy was shooting a very warning look up at Ron that clearly told him to get rid of them. The look also hinted what the Slytherin wanted to do to him once they were gone… And Ron realised that he actually wanted to comply. He would have damned the boy for the power he had over him but he was too far-gone to. He let out an extremely strained smile.

"Harry mate, seriously… I'm fine. I'd turn to you and prove it and all but the bastard won't let me move." 

"Such a sweet talker you are, Weasley," the Slytherin said with a twinkle in his eyes, lifting his hand up and pushing Ron's scarlet fringe out of his blue eyes. The Gryffindor held his breath, cursing the curse for not allowing him to arch to the touch and also cursing himself yet again for wanting to. The Malfoy continued to move his hand softly against the redhead's skin until he could trail his thumb down the boy's cheek. Ron found the angry retort on his tongue disappearing to God knows where. Not for the first time since he'd had the curse placed on him had Ron wanted to stay exactly where he was. 

Stupid Malfoy. Stupid ferrety, slimily irresistible Malfoy. 

The Gryffindor slowly rolled his eyes shut just as the Slytherin leant up to capture his lips in a searing kiss, wrapping his arms around his neck and losing his pale hands in his ruffled red hair. Ron, finding himself trying to return the favour to the best of his frozen ability, vaguely caught the sounds of hurried footsteps and the door to his dormitory slam. They seemed to have scared Harry and Neville off, who had made an early and fast escape up the stairs and probably wouldn't come down for while. For some crazy reason, Ron wanted to burst out laughing as he imagined the looks on his friends' faces but was strangely contented enough as he was, feeling Malfoy sigh deeply into his mouth before the blond pulled away for a second. 

"Finite Incantum…" he croaked against the redhead's lips. Ron felt himself regain control of his now aching body as it fell and slumped on top of the Slytherin's, squashing him further into the couch. Malfoy didn't seem to mind though as he fiercely ravished his mouth again, pulling him even closer against him. As soon as the Gryffindor began to feel blood rushing through his muscles again he weakly wrapped one shaky arm around the boy's waist, his other hand stroking softly at his face.

"Gods, I hate you…" Ron mumbled between dropping kisses at every available spot on the Slytherin's face, causing the pallid skin to colour. "Why do you have to be such a git all the time?" Again, he knew should have been angry at the creep. Whacking the back of his head for cursing him and being mean to his friends and being a complete arsehole all the bloody time. But that made Malfoy… well, _Malfoy_, didn't it? Made him the same Malfoy he was beginning to fall for… 

Shit. 

And he reckoned that Hermione had rotten taste in men. 

"Just shut up and kiss me, you long-limbed freak," the Slytherin smirked weakly back, hands sliding from Ron's head to cup his face. He stroked his thumbs against the redhead's speckled cheekbones as the Gryffindor obeyed by leaning down, but not before mumbling,

"Stupid ruddy ferret…"

Before the Slytherin could complain, the redhead pressed his lips fiercely to the other boy's and drowned out his usual words of censure. It was weird. Malfoy wasn't all bad when you were making out with him. Shit, all bad was an understatement. He was bloody brilliant. But that was mainly due to the fact that he couldn't talk with his tongue under such strenuous work. And what a talented tongue he had…

"We should go upstairs," Ron managed to say breathlessly when they finally pulled apart. Resting his forehead on Malfoy's shoulder, he closed his eyes and tried to get his breath back. He could tell the stupid git was smiling in that egocentric way he did. He lifted his face and placed his chin on the boy's shoulder so he could see him properly. That aggravating smirk was tugging at his kiss-swollen lips again. Why was it that Ron was beginning to adore the look that used to irritate him so much?

"Go upstairs? And here I was thinking you were a prude, Weasley…" 

"Actually, I meant 'Go and sort your stuff out'," Ron smiled sheepishly with a slight blush. "The house-elves brought them up this morning."

"I think I'd rather stay down here and sort you out," the Slytherin whispered seductively, slipping a hand underneath the redhead's robe and running his cold fingers lightly down his warm spine. Ron shivered.

"Not here, Malfoy," he said with a nervous shake of his head to punctuate his sentence, putting his palms flat down on either side of the boy to lever himself up and off the blond. However, he felt Malfoy's once soft fingertips press down hard against his back to try and stop him moving. He didn't look happy.

"You better not be serious, Weasley," he warned, looking annoyed but mostly incredulous that Ron could even think about leaving at a time like this. His fingers were digging into the redhead like mini hooks as his eyebrows arched threateningly. Was it even natural for a boy to have such sharp nails? Ron squirmed. "Right now, I'm planning on screwing you into this sofa." Ron tried to shrug the blond off him, although it did take quite a struggle for him to be rid of the Slytherin leech, causing him to hit his red head against the mahogany of the couch.

"God dammit! Owwwwwwwww! Malfoy! Geroff…!" He pulled himself out of the boy's grasp, nearly stumbling as he jumped to his feet. He glared furiously at Draco as he moved his arm around awkwardly to rub at his scratched back. "What are you, a complete raving psycho?! Completely lost it, you have...! Don't you get it? Harry and Neville are just up the stairs…!" Draco rose to a sitting position the sofa, his usually neat hair utterly mussed up and his face pink from the struggle. He looked like a spoilt child who was just denied candy.

"Exactly! They won't fucking see anything, you idiot Gryffindor!" he spat back. Well, he certainly didn't talk like a child…

"Yeah but they'll hear it, won't they? And well… you know, I heard that it… well, _that it hurts_," Ron finished lamely, feeling his flush travel through to the tips of his hair as he quickly avoiding the Slytherin's gaze. Jeez, why did talking about sex always make him turn a stupid beetroot colour? He was 15, nearly 16, for Christ's sakes and he still laughed over his neighbour being called Mr Cox. 

Malfoy eyed him curiously, seeming to find his uneasiness amusing. Stupid undergrown prat. 

"Oh come on, Weasley," he drawled, still managing to sufficiently unnerve a person from his seated position. "Do you really think I'd hurt you?" 

Ron snorted. What kind of dumb question was that?

"Hell, yes!" the redhead said truthfully. "Hate to break this to you, Malfoy, but this is all pretty new to me, you know. I mean, I want you. Shit, I _really_ want you but just… just don't push me, ok."  The Slytherin just looked up at him silently with a blank look on his face. With a sigh, Ron offered his hand to help the boy up. He thought that maybe the blond now understood. That, although he may have been an instinctive person who went with whatever emotion was most dominant, the Gryffindor was still lacking in experience. However, Malfoy proved just how supportive he would be as he slapped the presented hand away. He slid to his feet on his own and glared up at the redhead. 

"If I wanted to go out with a frigid little girl, I'd have gone after your sister, Weasel."

"Talk about my sister like that again and you'll be in acute pain, Malfoy," Ron immediately snapped back. There was just something about Ginny that made him want to fiercely protect her from everything, including guys like Malfoy. Damn_, especially_ from guys like Malfoy. Instead of cowering under his wrath, however, the Slytherin only leered suggestively.

"I'd rather put _you_ in acute pain…" Was this boy just permanently horny or what? It was like a disease or something. The redhead rolled his eyes.

"Quit doing that, Malfoy. And are you coming or what?!"

"Well you're the one who refuses to let me… oh, you mean _that_ form of _coming_." He smirked sardonically at his own joke. Ron didn't look impressed. 

Bugger him, why was he always so bloody irritating? And why wouldn't he ever make the effort for him? It wouldn't kill him to go upstairs and try and be nice to his friends… Hell, it wouldn't kill him to be nice to Ron himself! So why did he insist on being so crapping… Malfoyish?! Ron crossed his arms angrily and pouted at him. Seeing his expression, Malfoy stepped closer to him and suddenly looked very serious.

"Don't pull the cute look on me, Weasel. I know what you're trying to do, and it won't bloody work. I'm not about to be all fucking chummy with your friends. You want us all to get along? Well too shitting bad. If you want me to stay here with that little fruit Longbottom and that nut you call your best friend and not hurt them in the process, you've got another fucking thing coming…!"

Fruits? Nuts? What the heck was he on about? And why was his voice growing louder by the second?

"Malfoy, what are you…?" But the blond seemed to finally lose it, actually throwing his usually calm Malfoy arms up in the air in pure frustration at the redhead's lack of understanding.

"You can't have your bloody cake and eat me, you stupid, stupid… Weasley!**"

Ron was far from in the mood for this. Not only was Malfoy being his irrational self and giving him an ultimatum but he was also making the Gryffindor really hungry. The redhead grabbed his own head in exasperation. 

"Gah! D'you know how annoying you are? Wait… you know what? I haven't got time for this. Come if you want. Either way, I don't care." As Ron spun around on his heal to march up towards the dormitories, he felt a sharp tug at his sleeve. Turning around, he saw Draco glaring heatedly at him. Why couldn't he ever leave things alone? Why wouldn't he just let Ron storm up the stairs and break everything in his dorm room in an attempt to cool off?

"You know what, Boy Weasel?" he snarled, always needing to have the last say in everything. "I don't need you. I'll just go off and I'll get so desperate that I'll date a girl and we'll have loads of Death Eater babies together and feed them to the Dark Lord with spoon! Would that make you fucking happy?"

Ron pulled forcefully out of his grip with a scowl. 

Talk about being a melodramatic, overemotional little… Whoa! Wait a minute! Did he just say what Ron thought he'd said? The redhead gaped before a dazed and slightly superior smirk crossed his lips. 

"Blimey," he said breathlessly through a shocked smile. "Did I just hear Mr 'I'm not gay' admit that dating a girl was his last resort?" Draco opened his mouth to say something malicious back before soon looking remarkably ill. It was almost as though he was thinking about what he had just said. He looked back at Ron again, his face drained of the little colour produced during their sparring. Damn, the little shit looked like he was actually trembling on the spot… 

Ron took a wary step back. 

"Err… Malfoy…? Are you alri-?"

Without another word, the shaking Slytherin slammed passed Ron's left shoulder so hard that the redhead lost his balance and fell back on the sofa. Without even checking he was all right, Draco made his way up the stairs and Ron heard the door slam closed. Soon afterwards he heard Harry yelling at him. The redhead squeezed his eyes shut. This was seriously getting old. And bloody tiring as well.

He may have called Ron a frigid little girl but Draco Malfoy was definitely the gayest guy in the biggest form of denial on the planet. And he suffered from PMS worse than Ginny and Hermione combined. And was it too much to ask for them to spend at least one day not arguing with each other? Sighing in exasperation, Ron trundled up after him, trying to think of a way to fix _yet another_ fight between them …

This was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

_* Draco's lounging is based on the picture from CoS when Tom Felton is lounging in the common room, which, incidentally, makes an excellent avatar *grins at Jaime*_

_** I wrote the eat line before I saw Marsha say it in 'Spaced'… mad isn't it? *sniffs* And I thought I was the only one who made that up and used it…_


	18. I'm Not in Denial 17b

_I am unbelievably cruel to Draco in this POV – I love picking on him! Sorry this took me so long. Me lazy. Thanks again guys! The scene after the three stars wasn't going to be added until later but I just liked it too much here… hope you guys like! Includes a CockyAsHell!Harry and Jealous!Draco. I have a feeling I should say something else because I've been so damn absent but… gah! Here it is! Luff ya all! (Jaime, you weren't here to Beta!)_

* * *

**Draco - I'm Not in Denial**

He wasn't paying the least bit of attention to where he was going to go as he left Weasley lying on the couch. And he honestly couldn't give a shit. All Draco Malfoy really knew, as he ascended angrily up the unfamiliar stairs, was that he was fighting a losing battle. But that didn't mean he would suddenly break down and admit it. No bloody way. They couldn't make him say it, those stupid arse-ramming fags. They could assume all they fucking wanted to about him but he wasn't like that. He would never be like them. They pranced around like camp cross-dressing idiots, not giving a shit about how disgusting they were or how they wrecked the normal person's day with their nauseating existence. Freaks of nature, that's what they were. And there was no mother-fucking way a Malfoy could ever be like that. How dare Weasley even think about suggesting it? Having the nerve to judge him as impure! Abnormal? Shitting tainted? His blood was bluer than the sky, for Christ's sake! It was Weasel who was the pervert. Not just a poorer than dirt Gryffindor but a queer as well! 

Oh, fuck Weasley, just fuck him! And bugger his own stupid mouth for betraying him like that. Repeatedly declaring your innocence was pretty bloody tiresome when you kept on incriminating yourself over and over again. And why is it that his mind knew he was straight while every other part of his anatomy refused to believe it?

Stupid Weasley. Stupid celibate and literally tight-arsed bastard. 

He honestly didn't know why he tried. He'd be eighty before he finally got into the boy's pants… and Draco Malfoy was currently relatively young. Was it so wrong that he wanted to get some Weasley action? At his age, he ought to get as much arse as humanly possible, double that statistic, really, considering he was gorgeous to boot. And besides, he had hormones. Malfoys had more than the average person, too. And why should he have to fucking justify how horny he was anyway? He was a teenage wizard for crying out loud! That was a reason in itself!

Still in an extremely foul mood, the Slytherin continued to stomp up the stairs. When he finally reached the Gryffindor Boys' Dorm, he kicked the door in his irritation, hoping the red mahogany would crumble under his foot. However, the door only bounced open. And now his big toe hurt like fucking hell. Stupid Gryffindor doors. Everything in this stupid place was against him.

Potter and Longbottom were sitting on Weasley's bed and seemed to be having an in-depth discussion about something before the blond stormed in, causing both boys to jump in surprise and turn to him. Aww, little Gryffindors scared by the big bad door? Stupid wimps. Jesus, he couldn't believe he would have to live with these little prats until Christmas. Why the fuck did he leave the Manor? Getting the mark would have been bliss compared to the torture of having to sleep in the same room as these idiots. And at least he'd have been rich if he'd become a Death Eater… He would never forgive Dumbledore for this. Never. 

Potter snapped his head up at him angrily, his entire face screwing up in dislike as he jumped to his feet in confrontation. Longbottom just looked terrified being in the Malfoy's company as the green-eyed wizard stepped forward in an impression of hostility. What a fucking geek. Was Draco actually supposed to frightened of the twat? 

"God dammit, Malfoy! Don't you know how to knock? Didn't your evil bastard of a father teach you manners? We could have been naked for all you knew." Draco snorted at him, not exactly enjoying the graphic mental image Potter had just painted for him. 

"Yeah, well thank fuck for my eyes and sanity that you're not," he sneered nastily. "Now, get the heck out of my way, Potter." Draco slammed passed the bespectacled wizard to the bed in the corner then collapsed onto it, raising his shoe-clad feet on top of the bedspread. The Boy Who Lived just gaped at the audacity of it all. 

"Malfoy, get… get the heck off my bed!" Draco turned to look at him, rage beginning to gurgle beneath his cold surface. Gods he hated the boy. He really, _really_ hated him. If it wasn't for Weasley never speaking to him again or Dumbledore refusing to protect him, he would beat the living crap out of stuck-up little shit. 

"Potter," he drawled in a voice much calmer than he was. "I think I can find more use in having my bed beside Weasley's than you." The great Harry Potter had the grace to blush.

"You're… you're not having my bed, Malfoy." He managed to sound defiant although he was a lot redder in the face than could be considered healthy and Draco silently pleaded that the nest-haired prick would literally die of the embarrassment. But was Potter actually threatening him? Him? Draco Malfoy? The boy who took whatever the heck he wanted? And he usually got it, too. And he wanted this bed. He also wanted to piss the boy off and to make a scene. Draco's eyes sparked dangerously. 

When he would look back on this, the Malfoy would conclude that it was his own fault really. If he hadn't been so wound up by the stupid git, he would have noticed the way the black-haired boy's hand was slowly inching into his robes... 

However, he just snarled at him instead. 

"And what are you going to do about it, Fly boy? Run off and cry to Dumbledore? Tell him that you're getting bullied by that nasty ole Slytherin? You're pathetic, Potter. Fight your own battles. And get used to it. I'm here to stay and you'd better either deal with the changes or stick that ugly head of yours up your own-"

"Mutus! Bindus!" 

It happened even before he could register the words or heed the cords shoot like whips out of Potter's wand. All the pale boy really knew was that he was suddenly bound tightly to the bed he had been fighting over and that his screams and shouts and curses for Potter to 'die die die' refused to sound out of his mouth no matter how much he moved his lips. He looked up at his opponent in pure disbelief.

No. Fucking. Way.

Oh no, he hadn't. He better not have… Potter better not have even dreamt of it… He better not have even imagined hexing him because if he had…

Snitch Boy marched over, leaning over the laying form of the still Slytherin and looking down at him with a more than self-righteous look on his face. He cocked an eyebrow passed his round frames as a grin began to shape on his mouth. The blond was in such shock that all he could do was gaze up at him with huge eyes. Did someone really just hex him? Was Draco Malfoy really in a vulnerable position? 

Potter smirked. 

And it was at that very moment that the door slammed open again and an agitated Ron Weasley decided to barge into the room, throwing his long arms in the air in frustration. 

"Dammit, Malfoy! If you're gonna keep being all petty and sulky and stuff and pick on my friends then you can just…" The redhead, however, stopped as soon as he looked at the scene. He blinked repeatedly, staring dumbly at Harry's uncharacteristic expression, Harry's bed, and lastly at the person strapped to it, with a confused expression. He swallowed slowly. "Err, Harry. Why's Malfoy all bound and tied to your bed?"

The-Boy-Who-Would-Soon-Die-a-Slow-and-Agonising-Death-at-the-Hands-of-a-Malfoy turned casually to his friend, as though this sort of behaviour, and having Draco in his bed, was perfectly normal and acceptable. The Slytherin wanted to yell out that Potter would be fucking lucky to have him in his bed and that being cursed was the only way the Slytherin would be in it, too, but no words escaped him. His voice box felt hollow and empty and dead... had he really once had the ability to speak? 

And then he suddenly felt ready to kill. Potter had actually hexed him! Fucking hexed him!! He was going to murder the little shit!

The dark-haired wizard smiled cheerfully at the redhead, not noticing the death glare, the aggressive struggles or the mute, though violent, threats of mutilation he was receiving from his belligerent captive.

"Because we're teaching him the rules," Potter said calmly as the bed began to creak non-stop with the blond's spasms.

Rules, his fucking arse!!! Draco struggled even more, the binds cutting into him with his every thrashing movement but he didn't give a toss. That Scar headed bastard was never going to get the best of him! And once the Slytherin was out of these constraints, the wanker wouldn't be alive to!

The redhead looked at the shocked Neville for clarification, but Neville looked even more confused as he shrugged, still darting warily nervous looks at the Slytherin's uncanny and convulsing 'Exorcist' impression on the bed. Weasley then turned to his best friend as though he'd lost, not just misplaced, his mind.

"Um… the what?"

What the fuck was Weasley waiting for!? Why wasn't the scrotum sucker*** helping him?! 

"The rules, Ron," Potter said patiently, as though he was talking to a small and particularly dense child. "The Gryffindor boys' rules."

Weasley's brow furrowed, opening his mouth hesitantly as he threw Draco an unnerved glance.

"But Harry, we don't have any 'cept 'don't pee in the shower'. And Seamus, the little git, never listens to that one anyway…"

The Slytherin mentally groaned amid his thrashing about. He was living with fucking Neanderthals! What else? Did they share only one pair of underpants between them and bathe in swamp water as well? What the heck was Dumbledore thinking when he put him in here with these feckless heathens?! He refused to live under such bloody conditions!

"I actually meant the 'One shalt not maim or torture thy neighbour' and the 'keep your wand in your pocket' rules, Ron," the dark haired wizard explained in exasperation, a smile of slight fondness directed at his friend. Draco's angry growl was restrained by the spell as he struggled even more.

_My wand's my own fucking business and I'll shoot and maim whoever I bloody like with it! _

Potter seemed to somehow heed the Malfoy's furious reaction to his last sentence and almost swaggered forward, crossing his arms and tapping the tip of his wand on his own left shoulder. He shrugged with feigned pleasantness at the laying boy although he had warning in his green eyes.

"Sorry, Malfoy. Rules are rules. This is a curse free, civilised zone. We don't hex each other or try and commit murder here. Try any of that threatening crap again and I'll give you to Voldemort myself." He stopped to pause as Weasley winced noticeably with the mention of You-Know-Who. "Any questions?"

Draco was going to kill him. He really was. 

When the heck did boring as fuck Potter get so bloody cocky?! And how the fuck was he expected to ask anything with this stupid bastard curse on him?! Damn and curse and screw the dick for doing this to him! No one was allowed to do this to him! He was never going to get away with this! 

The Slytherin flipped.

_You bastard! I'm going to rip your eyes out, Potter! Do you hear me?! You'll be more fucking blind than you already are, you skinny little shit! You'll be begging for death to save you when I'm through! You deaf fuck! I'm going to skin you fucking alive and pull each of your teeth out with pliers and make a fucking necklace out of them! Are you fucking listening…?!_

Potter raised an eyebrow as he looked at his two companions. The redhead still looked wary though faintly amused at both the situation and his best friend's suddenly unexpected character while Longbottom stepped quite courageously and shakily forward to observe the dangerously unhinged boy on the bed. 

"What d'you think he's trying to say?" the dark haired boy asked with a satisfied smile. Neville Longbottom tilted his head to one side and genuinely looked closely. The chubby boy frowned slightly.

"Looks like he's saying the F word a awful lot, Harry." 

"Harry, I reckon we ought to let him go now," Weasley said, smothering a smile. Stupid little shit. This wasn't funny! Why did he always laugh at the least funny things? Did he have any fucking sense of humour?! Well, he was never getting any nookie from the Malfoy ever again!

"Yeah, I guess you're right," the bespectacled wizard said, sighing almost forlornly before lifting his wand and pointing it directly at the blond's head. "Finite Incantum."

The binds finally snapped from the Slytherin's body like painful elastic bands, striking his flesh as he was released. His throat felt dry and sore and Draco immediately clutched at his neck with his newfound freedom, gasping mouthfuls of air. He swallowed a ragged intake of breath and grimaced with the pain he felt, the inside walls of his throat feeling shredded and tasting almost like salty blood. He didn't notice the three boys suddenly looking worriedly at his reaction as he began to cough uncontrollably, his eyes beginning to sting with water. He felt a warm hand on his knee and someone sliding beside him, and managed to look up at the blurred but clearly pale and very anxious face of Ron Weasley.

"Malfoy?" he asked, his voice sounding shaky and oddly high pitched. He raised his hand to cup the side of the blond's face, wiping clumsily at an escaping tear with his thumb and looking at him with wide-eyed incredulousness and jumpy concern. 

The Slytherin heard a shuffling of feet to his left (mid-choking) and heard the door slam open. It seemed just a second later that Potter came wheezing back into the room and sloshing about a now half empty and dripping glass of water, giving it hurriedly to Weasley. The redhead just bit his lip nervously as he continued to cup the pale boy's now red cheek. 

"Uh, drink this…" he said, trying to sound vaguely comforting. He pressed the rim of the glass between the Slytherin's gasping lips and Draco gulped the liquid down gratefully like it was the nectar of the Gods. The Weasel shakily stroked the side of his face reassuringly as he drank, darting the odd panicked look at his best friend. Potter looked like he was going to pass out while Longbottom nearly did. 

It took a while for the blond to finally calm his breathing and spluttering but when he eventually did, he snapped his eyes up, glaring at The-Boy-Who'd-Nearly-Killed-Him. Harry Potter had a shocked look on his face as he collapsed with a thump on Ron's bed, mouth slightly open. 

"Are… are you ok, Malfoy?" he managed to gasp out.

The Slytherin slowly narrowed his eyes, looking at the Gryffindor Seeker menacingly as he breathed heavily. His hands shaking fists of fury. His mind running curiously. 

Potter had attacked him. Potter could have caused lasting damage. Potter had nearly fucking killed him. Potter had taken his role as the bloody oppressor. He, Draco Malfoy, could have been dead. Potter had hurt him, making him choke like a wimp and embarrassed him in front of Weasley. Draco snarled. The little arse was as good as dead.

He pulled back his fist and, with all his might, attempted to punch the boy square in the face when a strong hand closed over his clenched fist and held it in a very tight grip. Weasley. Draco eyed him defiantly, trying his hardest not to whimper from the other boy's remarkable strength as he tightened his fingers over the Slytherin's knuckles. Malfoys didn't fucking whimper. 

"Don't even, Malfoy," the redhead warned, his eyes, however, softening somewhat. "You're alright and Harry's sorry. Just forget about it." 

Forget about it?! Forget about fucking it?!

He opened his mouth to say something, preferably with a swear word in it, when a bell suddenly rang clearly from down the stairs and in the common room. What the heck? The boys all looked curiously at each other. Then all three Gryffindors ran, hurrying their way downstairs with Longbottom trailing behind the faster two boys, huffing his way down. Was it an alarm for something lame like, oh, a fire? Draco pursed his lips, snorted and strolled almost lazily behind them. There was no bloody way he was going to sweat up his favourite robes. Not for a fire. Not for anything. So, when he finally descended down the stairs, Draco Malfoy was relatively composed and slowly losing his homicidal lust for Potter's blood. However the boy, being born of noble stature and owing a constitution that only the rich could boast, was very easily disgusted and again made an appalled face as he eyed the three boys hunched over a full table of every type of food, stuffing their faces. He should have guessed that he would have to eat here and that that bell signified 'dinner time'. Although most people usually went home for the holidays, the Slytherin had reasoned that Dumbledore hardly wanted him parading about the castle. His expulsion and cause for it had travelled around the entire school and practically everyone knew who he was. So, now he'd have to lock himself away and live like a fucking hermit. And were those Gryffindors eating all _his_ food? He stepped forward, for once eying Weasley distastefully. The boy may have been completely gorgeous but did he have to eat like a bloody animal? You couldn't take him anywhere.

"God damn it, Weasley, I know your parents can't afford food but you don't have to eat everybody else's share as well."

"Shut up, Malfoy," the Weasel said without any malice and with a mouth full of roast potato. Draco frowned. It was getting bloody perturbing when he couldn't even piss the redhead off anymore. Had they really become (Draco cringed)… comfortable? The Slytherin was not pleased. Meanwhile, the freckled Gryffindor gulped loudly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and Draco's fingers itched to give him a tissue. And also a good hard grope. "And why don't you just try being nice, eh?" Weasley continued, shooting the blond a look from over his shoulder. "Even your insults are getting kinda predictable now, Malfoy, I've gotto say." 

Did he just fucking say predictable? 

"Nice?!" the pale boy practically barked out. He even hated the sound of the word! Did he look like the type of person who had even the slightest inclination for niceties?! "You expect me to be civilised with illiterate, stupid and arrogant Gryffindors?!" Weasley insolently belched in reply through a smirk as Potter threw the bone of a devoured chicken leg aside carelessly. Draco fought the snobbish urge inside of him to take them both by the ear and teach Ron a thing or two while throwing Potter out the nearest window. Gods, he fucking hated all this light heartedness and bad breeding. What the heck made them so bloody chirpy all the time?

"Civilised?" the scarred wizard suddenly asked, raising an eyebrow at the Slytherin and smiling. Apparently back to his cocky new self. Stupid little shit. Draco detested the boy more now than he ever believed achievable and slowly felt his dangerous anger returning. He stared at him evilly, clever and particularly gruesome murder schemes running through his head. And considering the sardonic look Potter was delivering back at him, the feeling was entirely mutual. The dark-haired boy smirked. "I can do civilised, you know… For example; 'Hey, Malfoy… How did you know you were gay?' "

That smug little bastard. The blond screwed up his face, growling at the Gryffindor seeker. He despised him. And it was more than obvious that he was straighter than something blatantly straight. Was everyone blind or something? And why were they all so fucking slow on the uptake? 

"I'm not gay, Potter," he snarled, almost growling furiously and wanting desperately to squeeze that scraggy neck of his. The Boy Who Lived, who started out being sarcastic, now just looked confused as he blinked. 

"But you and Ron are…"

"Don't bother, Harry," the redhead said good-naturedly as he chewed ravenously on his bacon rashers and smiled broadly. "He's in denial."

"I'm not in denial, Weasley," Draco spat, still staring venomously at Lightning Head. "I'm just a straight man who wants to bugger the occasional man."

"Right, now I feel special," Weasley said with a smile and a roll of his eyes at his best friend. Potter returned the look with a nod and an unconvinced smirk. 

"Yeah, sure you aren't, Malfoy… Wait, do you want to see a magic trick?"

What the heck was the messy-haired git on about? However, before Draco could tell him that he'd love for Potter to stick that wand of his down his throat and choke himself on it, the bespectacled wizard leant forward. He clawed his oily hands and then raised them to Draco's face, like a magician at a muggle children's party. Then he released his fingers dramatically like he was casting a spell at the blond. 

"Poof," he said simply. 

Weasley automatically burst into childish sniggers, nearly choking on his food, and Potter leaned complacently back into a chair with a grin. Draco looked as confused as Longbottom until he slowly understood what the stupid bastard was implying. And when he finally did, he couldn't quite mask his outrage. Potter was dead meat! And he'd fucking pay through a bloody nose for that one…!

The Slytherin made for his wand but it seemed as though the fates were against him and he looked up to find that all three wands were already poised in his direction as he groped at his pocket. 

"Slow learner, aren't you, Malfoy?" Potter tutted, shaking his head and holding his wand hand steady. Weasley was just frowning at the Slytherin in annoyance as he also pointed his wand, although he was still licking the food off his other hand quite ravenously. And Longbottom just stared self-consciously at the other two boys for his next instructions. 

Draco couldn't deal with this anymore. He really couldn't. 

He dropped his hands almost dejectedly by his sides and glared up at all three of the boys. It was as Potter stood there, still looking mighty pleased, that the blond uncovered something. Draco Malfoy just didn't belong here. In Weasel's little world. And as he gifted them all with the finger, told them eloquently to 'Fuck themselves royally' and then marched up to bed again, the pale boy realised that he never would. 

***

"Malfoy…" a small voice implored, pulling the Slytherin out of his slumber. Draco snapped an eye open, the darkness of the Gryffindor dorm room almost eerie during the chilly night, even if the white snow outside illuminated the view. How long had he been asleep? The rumbling of his stomach reminded him how he had missed dinner and the rumpled and yawning Malfoy had a sudden urge to sneak downstairs to get some... 

The voice hissed his name again and Draco definitely recognised it this time around. He snorted before he pulled the duvet over his head and flatly ignored the distraction. 

"Piss off, Weasley," he growled tiredly. But Weasley didn't. Instead, the boy sat up in his own bed (which evidently happened to be opposite the Slytherin's) and looked across at him sulkily. Draco tried not to look as he nuzzled his entire face into his pillow.

"Listen, I'm sorry, ok? But we had to!" Weasley said hastily, finding it difficult to keep his voice down. Draco looked up slightly. Crap, it was too cold for the redhead to sleep topless… "And don't you ever notice how completely mental you get?! You would've killed us if we didn't turn on you…!" Draco soon sat up in his own bed, staring over at the mussed redhead with his pale Malfoy arms crossed and his silver hair messy. Weasley was missing the shitting point! He bared his perfect teeth. 

"Weasley, you let him fucking hex me!" he hissed back angrily. "You bloody encouraged him! Don't think I'm going to forgive you for this just because you… what the hell are you doing?" 

The redhead seemed to be getting out of bed and making his way towards him. 

"Keep it down, alright?" the Gryffindor whispered urgently as he climbed onto the Malfoy's bed on his hands and knees. Draco held his breath, not at all watching the way Weasley flexibly moved to the empty space beside him in that tight t-shirt of his... "With the way you're yelling the place up, everyone'll hear you, you great prat. I'm here now so you don't need to yell. And shift up, will you. It's bloody freezing." Weasley wiggled down until he was underneath the warm covers and the blond could feel the redhead's goosebumps against his arm.

"Your feet are cold," the Slytherin remarked dryly, not really knowing what else to say as he felt the Gryffindor, for once, snuggle towards his warmth. Icy breath ghosted against Draco's neck and the redhead shuddered with the cold as he wrapped his long arms around himself. The blond pursed his lips as he looked down at the form shivering against him and Weasley soon looked up after feeling the inspection. His lips were slightly white from the drop in temperature and his wide eyes had suddenly turned Arctic blue. Draco bit his lip, resisting the temptation to take him into his arms. Teasing and frisky little prick. The feigned innocent act wasn't going to work, no matter how much Draco wanted him. 

"You're not getting around, or in me, that way, Weasel," he cautioned. The redhead's adorable face broke into a self-conscious, boyish grin, looking only a little sheepish by his own daring. His eyes were laughing as he began to regain the lost colour in his cheeks. 

"Don't know what you mean, Malfoy," he joked through a flush, although he did have an incredibly hopeful look in his eyes. Even when he was trying to give him the silent treatment, the boy managed to work his magic on the Slytherin. And Draco, despite all his efforts, couldn't help it. He smirked down at him.

"Want my hands all over you, do you, Weasley?" he whispered mischievously into the redhead's ear before giving his lobe a little nip with his teeth. The Gryffindor shut his eyes, sighing heavily. Happy with the boy's reaction, the Slytherin finally pulled Weasley against him, warming the redhead with every single part of his body. And Draco decided that there were simply only so many times that you could, with a sound mind, refuse the boy.

"Gods, Malfoy, you're such a tease…" the Gryffindor breathed, eyes fluttering as the blond worked down his throat and slid his hands up and inside his t-shirt. The Slytherin paused to give him a thorough kiss on the mouth, and Draco was sure the Gryffindor could feel his smile against his lips. 

"Enjoying yourself, Weasley?" he asked softly, his mouth curving with the sexiest smile he could manage. The blond was surprised that Weasley hasn't fainted from it. So he continued his ministrations some more, his hands travelling wildly. 

"Oh, fuck… Malfoy… please not in here…" the boy moaned throatily, his words contradicting his tone. "Harry… Neville… might catch… uhhhh…" 

Draco smirked, licking at a bead of sweat on the boy's forehead. 

"Calm yourself, little Weasel. I'm not trying to get in your arse yet or anything." 

Weasley blinked and pulled away slightly, eying the Slytherin like he had no idea who he was. His hair was chaotic and a smile was slowly appearing on his face. What was the big deal? Draco didn't get it. It's not like he made a giant thing of forcing the ginger git or anything… 

"Finally figured that I'm still under the age of consent, did you, Malfoy?" he asked, a smug look on his face. What was Weasley all smug about? Being proud of being frigid was such a Gryffindor type of thing to be…

Draco rolled his eyes. 

"Weasley, I'm not waiting until March to bugger you."

"Hey! Who says I'm not doing the buggering…!" the redhead cried out, looking offended. "And… wait a minute. You know when my birthday is?" The Slytherin lifted himself up onto his elbows. 

"March the first. Your favourite colour is orange and you support the shittest team in the entire Quidditch league. Your favourite sweets were Fizzing Whizbees until you figured, like any old dolt, that they had foul things inside them. Now you like chocolate frogs and are still stupidly looking for the Agrippa card, which everybody knows doesn't actually exist." Weasley's mouth was open, and the boy was looking at him again as though he'd never seen him before. The blond shifted. He didn't like all this 'getting to know each other' crap. And he didn't like the way the silly git was suddenly gawping at him. 

Weasley finally grinned out of his surprise.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy! If it wasn't you saying it, that would have been sort of romantic." Just hearing that word made him jerk. He'd avoided saying it as much in his lifetime as everyone else avoided saying Voldemort. Draco automatically scowled. 

"Don't make me puke Weasley." The redhead blinked again, noting his violent mood shift. The Gryffindor's face took on a questioning expression before it became fiercer. Gods, he looked wonderful when he did that…

"Then what do you call what's between us?" he demanded, sitting up completely and looking challengingly at his former enemy. Draco raised an eyebrow, looking at the Weasel stonily. He hated it when the stupid boy tried to ruin what they had by bringing in feelings. Why couldn't they just leave it as it was? No commitment, nothing. The Slytherin shrugged nonchalantly. 

"There's nothing between us."

Oh, Weasley didn't seem to like that. He was starting to get all red and blotchy and yep, his mouth dropped open again. Could the boy ever keep that thing closed? And why did everything in the fucking world shock him so much?

"Oh, I'm just a casual screw am I?!" he yelled, and Draco winced, looking around. Wasn't he the one wanting to keep quiet? How would this look to Potter and Longbottom? Weasley under the covers and screaming in his bed? "God, you are such a wanker, Malfoy!"

"I'd like to remind you that we haven't done any of the actual 'screwing' yet, Weasel. And for someone who says he's not a queen, you sure act like…!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

What the…?! Both the Slytherin and his Gryffindor immediately spun around to face the sudden yell.

Draco Malfoy always was an expert at explaining away things he didn't like and rejecting an idea that didn't please him. He was the master tactician in the game of denial. However, nothing he could think of could reasonably explain how, at that very moment, he managed to fall backwards off the bed, besides clumsiness or fright. Now, when he looked back on the matter and recalled Potter's screams that night, he chose to disregard how he got that bump on the back of his head. However, he did decide to remember quite clearly how quickly Weasley had rushed to the bastard's side and the look of relief etched over the scar-headed boy's face when he saw his best friend. But Draco chose to recall in greatest depth how the Boy Who Lived had thrown his arms around _his_ Weasley and shivered against him. As though he was cold, and Weasley was the fire keeping him warm…

"Ron… I… Ron… Voldemort… killed… Oh, Ron. Hermione… you… dead. Everyone, dead…"

"Harry, calm down," Weasley soothed, awkwardly patting his panting, stuttering friend with a pale look on his face. "It's fine! You're safe now…"

"No! You don't get it!" Potter pulled away, leaving the redhead looking wounded. "You … everyone... just dead… and I can't stop him! I'm not safe. I'll never get away from him!"

"Harry, you're getting hysterical. I'll get Dumbledore…"

"No!" the green eyed boy grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him back. "He can't see me like this…! He can't see me losing it...! I'll be fine. I don't need to bother him… Please, Ron…" Weasley slowly sat back down again, eyeing his friend like he was a madman ready to blow up any minute. Potter, who was still clutching _his_ Weasley's arm, shakily let him go. He looked at the redhead with a pained, lost expression, still shivering terribly. Weasley leaned forward and, although he still looked worried, held his best friend's shoulder comfortingly. "Ron, I… I don't even know what he's planning," Potter's barely audible voice broke. "How will I be able to fight back?" Weasley tried to grin reassuringly, but Draco could see how panicked he was, being knowledgeable of the fact that the redhead's voice went high when he was particularly nervous.

"Harry mate, why're you nervous, huh? You've beaten the stupid git every time! You're the Boy Who Lived! Got the cool scar and everything! You've done it four times already. Bet You-Know-Who shivers in his robes when you're around!" 

However, Potter was looking over the redhead's shoulder with a dead-looking expression and Weasley looked even more uncomfortable and suddenly quite… determined? The redhead bit his lip before he opened his mouth again.

"Har, would you… I mean, do you mind if I gave you something?" Both Potter and Draco turned to the redhead fast in curiosity. The dark-haired wizard slowly nodded in slight wonder as the blond still lay sprawled on the ground, suddenly unable to move. Weasel wanted to give Potter… _something_? What the fuck was _something?!_

The redhead jumped to his feet and moved to his bedside table. Instead of opening it, the boy picked up the watch that was lying on it. Then he walked back and dropped onto the bed again, handing the band to his friend. For the first time in hours the boy smiled, albeit weakly. 

"Ron, you already got me a Christmas present. And err… isn't that the watch Hermione bought you for your birthday…? I mean, it's a nice watch and all but…" Ron laughed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. 

"Harry, quit being a presumptuous prat and listen, ok?" Potter nodded, returning the smile feebly. "This watch is sort of like a tracking device. Just put it on your wrist and wherever you are, I'll be there too, quick as a flash. All you've got to do is press this button here to alert my wand and stuff and tell me where you are. And you know, whatever happens, we'll tackle it together." He ended his speech with a little shrug, although he was peering at the shorter boy with subtle hope under his lashes.

"Ron," the bespectacled wizard said in a soft voice when he could finally find his voice, accepting the watch. His eyes were full of gratitude as he looked up at the redhead. "It's... I mean... I don't, I don't know what to say. It's amazing… Where on earth did you learn a spell as complex as this?" Ron blushed self-consciously, pleased that the dark-haired boy liked it so much.

"Hermione gave me the idea last summer when we were staying 'round hers for the holidays. Thought I might accidentally lose myself. Crazy, she is. Then afterwards I kinda got the idea to make one for you and… well, y'know… the rest is history." The Boy Who Lived smiled a genuinely appreciative smile as he fastened the watch on and examined it on his wrist. 

"This is the nicest Christmas present I've ever had, Ron. Thanks." The redhead grinned back.

"Better than the Firebolt or the Invisibility cloak?" Potter yawned through a smile, crawling back under the covers.

"Don't push your luck, Weasley."

"Last time I do anything for you…" the taller boy teased. "Now go back to sleep."

"Already there… 'Night, Ron," the Gryffindor seeker mumbled tiredly into his pillow. 

" 'Night, Harry."

Weasley was smiling as he turned back around, like one who had accomplished a great deed, but soon cocked his head to one side and wore a bemused look on noting where the blond was sitting.

"Um, Malfoy, why're you on the floor?" But Draco didn't answer him. He just looked up at him with a sickly yellow colour about his face. Weasley frowned, bending down so he was crouched on the ground. "You ok?" The redhead lifted his fingers to stroke away the strands of hair falling over the Slytherin's eyes but Draco jerked out of his range and pushed his fingers away, quickly getting to his feet.

"Sorry to get in your way, Weasley," he snarled, marching over to his own bed and plopping down on it stroppily. "I'll just leave you to fuck Potter, shall I?" Weasley, who initially looked upset, now looked like he'd been told an extremely funny joke.

"Malfoy, what the…! Are you serious?" he asked through an incredulous chuckle. "Always knew you were mental, Malfoy, but now you're blind, too! Harry's my best friend! That's all it is."

"Why the fuck would I care about who you shag?" Draco spat, jumping back onto his feet so he could match the other boy. "I don't give two shits about you, about Potter, about some fucking muggle watch…! And I'm definitely not jealous or in fucking denial, so don't even think about saying it…!" Weasley didn't look angry. He just rolled his eyes. Rolled his shitting eyes! Like he thought this was just something petty? An interference in his day! Like the Slytherin wasn't as fan-bloody-tastic as Potter?!

"Draco…" he sighed exasperatedly. 

"And what have I told you about fucking calling me that, Weasel?!" the Slytherin shrieked almost hysterically. "Now… now get out!" 

"Hey, this is my dorm room!" Weasley suddenly yelled back, starting to get angry. "_You_ get out!"

"Fine! Wouldn't want to witness anymore sickening bonding moments!" 

And with that he marched out, making sure to slam the door behind him very hard. And it worked. Maybe Gryffindor doors didn't hate him after all…

But there was no way. No sodding way was he coming back here again! Not for his stuff or his invisibility cloak. He didn't care what Dumbledore did. Or the governors. Or Lucius. Or fucking Voldemort. Potter, everything was _always_ about Potter! Why did that skinny little dick need to ruin the one thing in his life he was beginning to… gah! Well, Weasley had better make a choice. Him or the Snitch Bitch. And if Weasley really wanted him back, he'd have to come and fucking get him himself…!

* * *

_ *** 'Scrotum Sucker' is from the brilliant South Park movie._


	19. The End of Harry 18a

_God, this thing is just laced with subtle tributes. You guys know who you are… all my beautiful P&P crewmates (especially Jaime & Maria, Sophie, Maud, Dee, Jadea, Annchen (miss you, dear!)… there are so many of you! And I luff you all!) And also a special thanks to Ghost Writter for sending me their fabulous fic – write more now! _

_I am really running out of things to say in these author notes besides how much I love you all (I have a lot of love to give) and apologise again for how late I've been and… yes. *dry cough* Well guys, this is the last Harry POV. Enjoy it, although I have a feeling you won't… Thanks again! One more POV to go before it's all finished! Yeay!  _

_Chapter dedicated to Manu for being too damn gorgeous and supportive for her own good. Go forth and read every story she's ever written! Shoo! Away with you!_

* * *

**Harry – Harry's End **

To be honest, Harry hadn't gone straight to sleep when he rested his untidy dark head on his pillow after saying goodnight to Ron. To own some more of the truth, you could say that the boy felt completely drained of energy and was beginning to succumb to the extremely demanding and somewhat threatening call of the sandman. But, to be really, _really_ honest, Harry Potter wasn't sure if he wanted to sleep ever again. 

Damn Voldemort. 

As soon as boy wizard closed his eyes, without fail, something would swim before his closed eyelids through the invisible link he shared with the Dark Lord. The death of his mother, which grew more and more gruesome with each showing, the eventual death of all those dear to him and the eerie image of Hogwarts going up in flames were just a few of the nasties that kept him willing himself awake with all his available strength; Lord Voldemort's harsh, taunting and cruel laughter ringing in the background. To pull the plug would be heaven. But how could he remove something he couldn't even see or touch? Something that wasn't even tangible? Something that had somehow been implanted into the very depths of his psyche?

Harry knew the eventual outcome. After all, he was quite an intelligent and mature boy for his age. It would slowly drive him mad and he knew it all too well. Bloody, rotted images were being pumped ferociously into his numbing brain, like gallons of some harmful bacteria, drowning him and gradually eating away his sanity… Reducing the Boy-Who-_Had_-Lived to just another regular at St Mungo's who just happened to have a freaky scar on his forehead. He'd laughed bitterly to himself about the irony of it all on a number of occasions. He was known to be the luckiest person in the Wizarding World… God, they just didn't have a fucking clue.

And so it was, after the boy had woken from yet another traumatic vision and bullied his eyes so wide open that they began to water for _yet another_ chilly night, that he unintentionally heard a brief argument and Malfoy's overdramatic exit. His four-poster bed was still vibrating from the slam of the door and the black-haired boy vaguely wondered how Neville managed to sleep through it, his snores and unintelligible mutters still ringing true. Keeping absolutely still, Harry didn't even realise he was holding his breath as a growl of frustration sounded from behind him; Ron's heavy, angry breathing disturbing the dark peace. There was a distinctive thud of someone kicking the bed next to his very hard in annoyance before he heard a yelp of pain, and the redhead cursing hard beds under his breath. Harry couldn't stop himself smiling weakly at the comical image of his best friend limping clumsily around. He bit the inside of his cheek and pretended to be asleep, making sure his eyelids were ever so slightly open.

And then finally, after five minutes in which the only sounds were harsh breathing and Neville's nightly slumbering noises, Ron broke the silence.

"Harry…" 

This was said in an extremely dejected, pleading and oddly muffled voice and Harry automatically distinguished that this was Ron's 'Help me, I'm lost' voice. Rolling on his side to face his friend, the green-eyed boy saw a blur, which looked very much like Ron, face down on the redhead's unmade bed in an impression of defeat. The blur's features were buried into his duvet and only a smudge of shocking, ruffled red hair was visible on top. God, Harry hated having such bad vision. He really needed to go and get contacts or get his retinas magically replaced or something. Rising up slightly against the headboard, he picked up his glasses from the bedside table and slipped them on. Leaning his elbow on his pillow and resting his temple on his fist, he looked across at Ron properly and his eyebrows immediately furrowed with unrest. What exactly did the boy want him to say? What was he _supposed_ to say? And did he, in true honesty, really want to help the redhead keep his relationship with the blond bugger? Kicking Draco Malfoy out of Ron's life seemed like the best solution for everyone. Harry bit his lip uncomfortably, wondering how delicately to approach the 'Malfoy' situation without screaming in womanly hysterics that Albino boy was the biggest arsehole in the school and, very possibly, the whole entire world. In the end, however, he went with the safest bet.

"Uh, yeah?"

There was a long pause again.

"You awake?" 

Harry couldn't restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

"No, Ron," he sighed impatiently. "I'm sleep talking." Ron grumbled something bad-temperedly into his mattress, which the other boy couldn't make out at all. It sounded like he was doing a fair amount of cursing that was not quite of the magic variety and the bespectacled wizard mused that Malfoy had seemed to have had rubbed off on his best friend in more than just the literal sense. However, just thinking about the 'literal sense' made his stomach turn rather unpleasantly. So he didn't dwell on it too long. After ending on a word that sounded remarkably like "dick", the redhead finally lifted up his face and met Harry's gaze. His cheeks were very red and he soon dropped his red-rimmed eyes away from his friend's intense stare. 

"Guess you heard all that shit with Malfoy then," he mumbled embarrassedly, almost defensively crossing his long arms over his chest. 

"Uh, yeah," Harry admitted, slightly sheepishly. Even if he couldn't help listening, it was still eavesdropping. And even though he'd done a fair amount of it during his years at Hogwarts, it was usually something important that he, Ron and Hermione needed to hear to solve a grand mystery. Something deathly important. Another plan to thwart Voldemort. Not the twisted workings of Ronald Weasley's sex life. And he didn't _want_ to hear. If bloody Malfoy could just learn to control that screechy voice of his… Harry paused again, seeing the very close to exploding look on the redhead's face. Noting that this could easily get _very _messy_ very_ quickly, the bespectacled boy tentatively began to speak. "Do you, err… want to talk about it…?"

It was almost like watching a dam bursting. Ron, out of nowhere, suddenly jumped from his bed onto Harry's with a loud thump, landing on the dark-haired boy's leg painfully. He had an utterly frustrated and slightly manic glaze in his eyes, as though he would simply split into two if he didn't unleash his burden into the open. Harry tried his hardest to look supportive and not to run away in fear of his life, still pondering where on earth this burst of speed had come from.

"He's mad, Harry! Like barking, _crazy_ mad! He's like a Quidditch set that's missing a couple of bludgers, y'know? And you can't even talk to him without him going off on one… Drama Queen that he is! He's worse than Hermione! First he's all in denial, _then_ he gets all jealous about us...!"

Harry blinked in confusion, trying to take it all in.

"Us?"

Ron made a face and his highly tensed body now slumped slightly, his mood less frantic.  

" 'Thinks we're having a torrid love affair," he muttered resentfully. Harry smirked softly at his sour expression. The rumour mill seemed to be working overtime again. If he thought it was bad after the Second Task, it was absolute pandemonium after he 'rescued' Ron from Malfoy like a knight in shining armour with a broomstick. And he had a sure feeling that it was all started by that crazy gossipmonger, Mary or Jamie from Ravenclaw. She scared him. The way she would look at him, then at Ron and then smile saucily was just… wrong. But at that moment, Harry found this all exceptionally funny.

"Love affair, eh? So he's discovered our dirty secret..." Ron, doing what he often did when he was frustrated, threw up his arms and yelped.

"It's not funny, Harry! I'm going batty here! I seriously can't take anymore without either ending up in a cuckoo ward or just… just letting Pig loose on him! What am I s'posed to do?!" 

Ron looked on with an expression of wild expectance as Harry appeared thoughtful, biting his lip in contemplation. After a minute of what looked like thorough, and almost painful, thought, The-Boy-Who-Lived merely shrugged.

"I say you go with the Pig idea."

"Harry!" Ron cried out exasperatedly, his voice ringing so loudly that Neville's snores suddenly cut short and the sleeping boy stirred in his sleep. Both friends abruptly sat in total silence, sitting rigid and not even daring to move their eyeballs, just in case the noise woke the chubbier boy up. However, Neville simply turned over, got comfortable and began snoring all over again a few seconds later. Harry sighed in relief and the redhead continued in an only slightly quieter voice, darting nervous looks at Neville and licking uneasily at his dry lips. "I mean… Harry, can't you just… you know? Just…gah! Quit staring at me like I've lost my bloomin' marbles and help me! You're the sensible one… well, after Hermione and all… but still! What do you reckon I should do?" From the desperate look on Ron's face, Harry was beginning to think that the boy would go up to Aragog himself and pluck a hair from his leg if Harry even suggested it. Which he was quite peculiarly tempted to do…

But this was definitely an important day in history. It had to feature in years to come in one of the many textbooks that Hermione insisted he and Ron read. After all, it was the day that Harry Potter was forced to give his best friend, and adamant hater of the Malfoys, sex advice about his relationship with the youngest one – Mr-Embodiment-of-all-evil himself. Life really didn't turn out the way you expected. Harry shrugged. Oh well, you just have to live with the hand you've been dealt… Even if it is incredibly shitty and involves Voldemort prancing around trying to kill you while your best friend is off playing tonsil tennis with your other worst enemy. God, he _really_ didn't know how these things always happened to him.

"Is this thing with Malfoy serious?" he finally asked, pulling himself from his thoughts. "As in, you know… _serious_." Harry gave him a significant look, stressing the last word in his sentence, crossing his fingers under the duvet and dearly hoping his friend would simply say 'No way! Malfoy's got a pulse and I'm horny as hell!'. But Ron just looked confused.

"You what?" 

Harry rolled his eyes yet again. How many glances had he made at the ceiling so far? He'd practically counted every stone brick up there. Ron really_, truly_ was his best friend in the whole world and the most important person in the world to him… but sometimes he could be so incredibly dense that it was frustrating. It was almost like he did it intentionally or something. Harry would have to be direct. And direct he was.

"_Dammit, _Ron! Do you think you love him?" 

The redhead blinked noticeably at this and recoiled, almost as though Harry had slapped him hard in the face. And by the expression he was wearing, Harry began to think that Ron would have actually preferred being violently attacked to answering _that_ sort of a question. With the meagre light, Harry could see the practically cartoon emotions playing on his friend's face; bug-eyed shock to red shame. And it was after a full minute that the blue-eyed Gryffindor managed to grunt loudly to show Harry the idiocy of his question, but wouldn't exactly meet his eyes for very long. And the grunt came out sounding incredibly strained and scratchy.

"M-Malfoy? Yeah right, Har. How can anyone love Malfoy?! You know, you'd… you'd have to be loony to!" he said almost defensively again, his face going pink. Harry shook his head slowly. God, they were just as stubborn as each other. They almost deserved each other. _Almost._

Harry smiled darkly.

"Well, you _have_ shared spit with him, Ron. You're not exactly the incarnation of sanity now, are you?" The dark-haired Gryffindor felt strange contentment in watching Ron's pink turn into deep, unhealthy plum. Well he should have been embarrassed, dammit. After all… _Malfoy_. He was actually in a bloody relationship with _Draco Malfoy_… But now wasn't the time to dig all that up again. Harry had already put aside an allotted time that he could bang his head against the nearest wall with aggravation.

"Well, how _do_ you honestly feel about him then?" he asked, tying to sound patient. "We've already established that you _like_ him…" Harry tried not to make a face or the expected gagging noises, "…somewhat. Anything else?" 

Ron looked pensive for a minute, his amber eyebrows creasing and looking down at his clasped hands as though he'd never even considered the question. It wasn't really surprising that Ron hadn't thought about this properly before. When it came to emotions, he just jumped into things. A perfect example would have been his hitting Malfoy every time he saw him. Now it seemed to be hitting _on_ Malfoy instead, a development that, Harry found, was _far _from an improvement. 

Finally, the redhead shrugged, looking even more bewildered.

"I dunno," he admitted slowly, but continued to speak. "I mean, sometimes I just want to ring his neck for him being the stupid little shit that he is, y'know? And he always knows just what to say to piss me off or make me feel completely thick… But then other times he just has to give me this look and I just want to… I dunno, hold him instead. Like protect him, or something stupid." His ears went red with the confession. Was it Harry or did Ron turn to impersonating a flashing red muggle police car siren whenever the 'M' word was mentioned? He-Who-Harry-Would-Rather-Not-Name-or-Think-About-In-Any-Way could get to his best friend without even being in the room. It was quite a feat. The little platinum parasite should have been exceedingly proud of himself.

"Malfoy needs protecting?" Harry asked disbelievingly. How could he need protecting when he was the one who usually inflicted all the damage on people? The boy was practically a cactus. Go near him and you'll get pricked. And lately, the green-eyed boy noticed that Ron seemed strangely into the pain game… But Harry soon banished all thoughts of Ron, Malfoy and pricks as he listened with morbid fascination to his friend's argument.

"You don't get him, Harry," Ron said seriously, before letting out a bitter bark of a laugh. "Heck, I don't reckon he gets himself! But he just acts like he's untouchable because he was taught to be." Harry felt and looked far from convinced. If this was Malfoy sympathy bait, he wasn't biting. As far as Harry was concerned, Malfoy was still the bigoted little bastard who had called Hermione a Mudblood, spent all his free time thinking up insults for the Weasleys and made that crack about Cedric in their fourth year. And now, he was the bigoted little bastard that was slowly taking his best friend away from him. 

"Ron, you're not seriously trying to tell me he acts like a git but really isn't one, are you? Because frankly, that's just a pile of crap." Ron grinned at the unmoved expression on his friend's face, his dimples deepening. 

"Nah, that's different. He _is_ a git. Probably the biggest git ever… well, for someone so short. But he's… I dunno, fragile, I guess." Harry's lips curled into a smile. Fragile Malfoy. It was an insult in itself and practically a punch line. 

"He'd kill you if he ever heard you say that, you know." Ron grinned mischievously back, seeming to know it, and the blond, only too well. 

"Yeah, and that's another thing. His threats are never real. Probably couldn't do Avada Kedavra to an ant. Stupid ferret." Harry couldn't help noticing that Ron said this with a wistful smile and an almost fond look in his eye. The redhead then, belatedly catching his thoughts, shook himself out of it. "Anyways, how come you're up? Why aren't you sleeping?" 

"Well, you did wake me up, you great prat."

"Don't give me that. You were already awake." 

"How do you figure that?"

"Just do." He was giving Harry quite a shrewd look. Well, as shrewd as Ron Weasley could manage. He should really have left all that to Hermione. He just looked endearingly silly. Harry shrugged again, not bothering to deny it. 

"Not really tired." Harry immediately tried to stifle a yawn. 'Not really tired' was an understatement – the boy was completely knackered. But he wasn't about to tell Ron that. Ron, however, raised one eyebrow, wearing the same disbelieving look that Harry was wearing only a minute ago. The redhead snorted and Harry felt his chest contract as he witnessed the Malfoy sneer mutate his friend's face for a second before it turned back to his inherited Weasley smirk. The Boy Who Lived couldn't help but shiver at this flicker of evidence, proving how much the Slytherin had influenced over Ron. He didn't like this at all… 

" 'Not tired'? Yeah right," Ron said, yet again reminding the distracted Harry that he was actually in a conversation. "That luggage set under your eyes is a right giveaway, Potter." Harry made a face at him.

"Way to be subtle, Weasley." However, Ron seemed to have stopped joking. His face was suddenly serious and etched with concern as he looked at Harry very closely. The shorter boy grimaced. Seeing that look on Hermione was fine but having Ron wear it made him feel nervous. It wasn't even one of Ron's panicky gulps of fear. He _really _was worried. 

Bugger it.

Harry had a feeling he'd have to confess… but he couldn't, he _wouldn't_, have everyone worrying over him. He didn't want it. He _hated _being such a bother. He hated the way he would get thrown looks of pity and sympathy from complete strangers and now to get it from the people who really knew him… people who could easily tell when he was lying… Maybe if he was just casual about it, Ron would drop the subject completely. The Boy Who Lived tried to look blasé. "Just not in the mood for another nightmare, is all. Nothing big." 

This however, made Ron look even more worried and Harry silently cursed his appalling acting skills. 

"Harry, this isn't good," the redhead said softly, shaking his head as he looked dubious. "No offence, but you look awful, mate. And forcing yourself to stay awake? It just ain't healthy. I know this is going to piss you off, but I still think you should go and see Dumbledore…" Harry immediately reacted, head snapping up. He was _not_ going to Dumbledore. No bloody way. It was the last thing he'd do, and he gave Ron a very severe look to punctuate his feelings, his green eyes flashing. Ron backed off a bit, putting up his palms in defeat. "Ok, ok. I get the message, you nutter... 'Don't mention it to Dumbledore'. Just reckon you're being stupid." Harry unintentionally found himself growling as his temper mounted. 

"Yeah, and wanting to shag Draco Malfoy, of all people, isn't stupid in the slightest, is it?" he snarled bitterly. He soon grabbed hold of himself, however, at the look of pain on Ron's face. Damn it. He immediately sobered. Running his hand through his hair again, Harry dug his fingernails into his scalp and looked up apologetically. "Shit, Ron. I didn't mean that. You know I didn't really. I just got angry…"

"S'ok," Ron mumbled, dropping his eyes again to hide his expression. He seemed to be doing a heck of a lot of that lately. " 'Guess I deserved that… Was just worried about you, is all…" He sounded like a wounded puppy that just got kicked by its owner, which only helped in making Harry feel completely like the dirt under his own shoe. When did the Boy Who Lived start acting like a prick? Like Ron didn't get enough of that crap from Malfoy…

"_No_, you _didn't_ deserve it," he said adamantly, the forceful tone of his voice compelling Ron to look up, a veil of red hair shielding his turquoise eyes from Harry. "I'm just being a total prat. I'm seriously all ears, ok? You want help with Malfoy, right?" The redhead cracked a weak smile.

"Yeah, that'd be nice. I can't bloody figure it. So go on. Advise me and stuff. What should I do about the ginormous twat?"

This was probably the hardest thing Harry would ever have to do. More difficult than facing Voldemort. More taxing than any test that Snape could throw at him. Damn, even worse than having to throw off the Imperius curse. Harry Potter would have to save his best friend's relationship with his worst enemy. And Harry Potter knew if he didn't, Ron was likely to get even more hurt. So the dark-haired Gryffindor had to do what was best, in the long run. He may be giving Draco Malfoy the benefit of the doubt, for the redhead's sake, but if the little bastard even breathed wrong on Ron, the bespectacled wizard would intervene quicker than a heartbeat. _No one_ messed with people he cared about, especially the select few he would willingly die for, and he would make damn sure that Malfoy would have that forever imprinted in his psychotic little mind. 

But when did the world suddenly get so complicated? And did Harry honestly used to think that Ron and Hermione getting together would have been complex? A huge clashing of personalities? It was laughable how black and white they were in comparison. 

The Boy Who Lived took a deep breath, his eyes drooping tiredly and wickedly threatening to engulf him into his nightmares. He bullied them wide open, trying to look as resolute and composed as an Auror on alert. 

"Talk to him, Ron. That's the only way to get this mess sorted. Get up early tomorrow morning and have it out with him. _OUT, _Ron, not_ off_." The redhead smiled guiltily at Harry's reproachful, almost stern look, looking quite convincingly innocent. "Just sit down and have a proper conversation with him. Talk to him about what you two have and where it's actually going. If he's worth it, which I sincerely doubt, it should get resolved." 

Looking at him properly, Harry noted that Ron had a relieved, determined smile on his face. The redhead let out a breathy, nervous sort of laugh.

"Shit, Har. That was like exactly what I needed to hear." And exactly what Harry hadn't wanted to say. He forced a smile.

"No problems, mate. Now youget to sleep…" He swallowed hard, feeling ill and so very, very tired. "You've got a big day tomorrow." Ron looked mildly stubborn as he finally sprang up to his feet, Harry's leg free from his weight.

"So long as you do, too. Hell, you're practically asleep now. Want me to get some Dreamless Sleep Potion from Madam…?" Harry refused to hear the end of that sentence.

"I'm fine, Ron. Goodnight," he cut in, snapping rather curter than he intended to. 

He _could_ prevent the visions without needing a potion. Or Dumbledore's help. Or Ron's. All he needed to do was stay awake. That was all. How difficult could that be? He lay himself back onto his mattress and pillow and turned his back to his friend, not even taking his glasses off and silently trying to will the redhead's presence away from his side. 

A few moments later he heard an apprehensive, "Um… night, Harry…" and heard Ron shuffle back to his bed. The occasional looks the redhead was throwing him were practically solid blocks which the dark-haired boy could feel press against the back of his skull, trying to push their way in and demand him to turn around and talk about what was bothering him. But he'd had enough of thoughts being forced upon him. And he would only obey his own. And they ordered him to stay awake all night. And Lord, did he try to.

However, even the Boy Who Lived had to forfeit and admit defeat once or twice, and this was one of those rare occasions. It was at exactly 4 in the morning that Harry, despite all his efforts, soon found his eyes closing and drifted off into slumber with his glasses still perched upon his nose. And Harry, _despite all his efforts_, had another dream. 

A dream worse than any of the dreams he'd ever had. 

This was a dream of a battlefield. A battlefield of torn limbs and rotting carcasses, where the grass was stained crimson with blood. A dream he'd vaguely remembered having before, but never this badly. Decapitated heads and bloody human organs piled high like a literal Red Sea. Every person on earth… every muggle, witch, wizard and child… dead. A flash of red hair and a freckled arm underneath piles of loose flesh and bones… Bushy brown hair ripped out of a scalp and blowing disturbingly with the breeze… A familiar face distorted, his usually twinkling blue eyes missing…

And as Harry twisted and turned, his body sweating, his tears spilling and silently praying yet again to no one in particular to be broken away from this torture, he felt himself being pulled out of it. He felt a pair of hands on his neck, squeezing the life out of him, tightening around him mercilessly… vaulting him back into consciousness and reality. And it was as he blinked his eyes into focusing in the morning light, his glasses bent haphazardly over his face, that he realised the hands were real, that the person above him was more than real and that he recognised them only too well. His green eyes went round with astonishment. 

_"You…!"_ But Harry was denied to state another word as the hands crushed even more hard-heartedly against his windpipe, as though affronted that he wasn't rendered speechless.  

He tried to breathe, to talk and to scream but was unable to prevent himself from gasping choked pants and coughing dry heaves. He slapped his hands onto his attackers, trying in vain to pry the much stronger and tightly clamped hands from his throat with his curled fingertips. But the person above him only gripped him harder, causing the boy's face to turn red and for his cheeks to begin losing feeling.

Harry endeavoured yet again to open his mouth, to scream for help… To call for Ron… but he knew his friend had got up early, as he himself had advised, and already left him. All alone to die. 

The figure smiled at him, then removed one hand to lift up an arm. An arm that Harry only now noticed held a wand. He widened his eyes in terror.

It happened all too fast.

Harry only had time to heed the all too familiar words before there was a flash of light. He didn't have a chance. The curse hit him in the chest and he seized up, immediately falling stone cold and lifeless back onto the bed; his mouth frozen open in time into a gruesome sort of silent scream. 

And that nightmare became the last one that Harry James Potter would ever have again.

* * *

**Draco – Check and mate… **_coming soon_


	20. The Beginning of the End 18b

_God, this thing is just laced with subtle tributes. You guys know who you are… all my beautiful P&P crewmates (especially Sophie, Maud, Dee, Annchen (miss you, dears)… there are so many of you! And I luff you all!) _

_Well, this is it. It's finally finished. Don't say I didn't warn you. There's a certain line from the film 'Heathers' in this; anyone recognise it? Last line is not mine either; I think we can all guess whose it is… *coughJ.k'scough* And I'd like to mention now that this whole giant stupid story is dedicated to Jaime and to Maria – the best wives that anyone can ever have. Luffly, glompworthy and great at grammar! :) *huggles them both*_

_Chapter dedicated to Manu for being too damn gorgeous and supportive and quite disgustingly talented for her own good. Go forth and read every story she's ever written! Shoo! Away with you!_

* * *

**Draco – Check and mate**

It took a while for Draco to realise exactly where he was as he rubbed at his sore, puffy eyelids with the back of his pale hand, still in a state of semi-sleep. Blinking his lazy grey eyes away from the slice of sunlight that was threatening his drowsy condition irritatingly, the boy tried to focus on the shape he was lying sprawled upon. It took him a while but he finally gathered enough wit to establish that he had collapsed on the sofa last night. And that he was back in the Shrieking Shack. 

God, he fucking hated this place. 

He groaned as he laboriously pulled himself up to a sitting position, the springs of the uncomfortable couch whining with him as they left imprints on his strained back. Moving his arm to run his hand through his chaotic, sleep-tussled hair, the Slytherin soon realised that his body was stiff and aching all over and he mentally reproved himself for being stupid enough to sleep here when he had a perfectly comfortable bed upstairs. Did he seriously think lying here would be the ideal place to see the front door, when that underprivileged, contemptible, self-obsessed little Weasel would _undeniabl_y decide to pop by? He was such a fucking mug. You might as well have dressed him in repulsive bumblebee colours and shoved him into Hufflepuff House, right next to that corpulent and hideously happy ghost of theirs. 

With a disgusted snort at his own stupidity, the boy found solid, carpeted ground and he lifted himself up onto his feet, wincing as he felt his calf muscles tensing. And then he remembered last night all over again. Weasley's kisses, Potter's dream… his own unspoken ultimatum. The blond swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut.

Fuck. This had all gone wrong. Everything had just gone _horribly_ wrong. 

How had his life turned to this? This stupid, melodramatic soap opera where he always came second? A place where he couldn't control anything, existing like a stupid puppet in someone's torturous plans? And… Jesus! Why, in the name of everything immoral and evil, was he even awake at this time of the morning anyway? It can't have been the right time. His clock must have gone wrong. After all, Draco Malfoy had always had a relatively reliable internal clock. Maybe it was due to his meticulous nature, but he usually woke at about 8:15am, a good three quarters of an hour before his classes began. Which usually gave the extraordinarily vain boy ample time to organize his appearance. However, he was up a good few hours early today. Something he rarely did. But why…?

Then he remembered. Somewhere, in the back of his sleepy mind, he recalled the rustling of footsteps and… pacing, maybe? These noises had woken him up. _Someone_ had woken him up. Someone who was in the shack with him…

Shit. Someone was actually _in_ the bloody shack with him. _Right bloody now_. 

Draco was suddenly alert, his wand summoned to his hand in a nanosecond and his weariness shaken off. He raised it threateningly, his cat-like eyes narrowed and his head turning side to side in sharp, wary and suspicious moves. The shack looked completely empty but he knew better. He could feel the presence of someone else. He could feel a gaze on his back… God, why didn't he notice it before? He spun around, aiming his wand at nothing but a wall. His ears were almost flickering with the slightest sound and he was beginning to panic. It wasn't safe here. He already knew it wasn't. Dumbledore had warned him not to come back. He was such a fucking idiot! All because of Weasley. He was going to end up as a stiff in a wooden box because of a poor, _ginger_ Gryffindor! Where was the justice in this?

But there was no way he was going without a fight. No way was an arse-kissing Death Eater going to overpower him.

"Show yourself or I'll send you back to Voldemort in pieces," he tried to hiss, his arm trembling regardless of his angry, silent promise to hack it off if it didn't hold steady. But when was the last time a Death Eater breathed so loudly? Weren't they trained to be quiet? Draco opened his mouth to say something else, maybe a curse, probably a weepy request for his mother, when an urgent and all too familiar voice shouted,

"Holy Hell, Malfoy, calm down!" 

Almost immediately after the yelp, Ron Weasley seemed to materialise in front of him, dropping the invisibility cloak he was using so it pooled around his scuffed shoes. It was with the sound of a thump that Draco realised that the panicked boy had dropped something else, but the cloak had conveniently fallen over it. Weasley tried to calm his static hair by patting it anxiously. "It's me, alright! Put that thing down, would you?! And am I the only one who knows how to say You-Know-Who around here?!" Draco blinked stupidly up at him, his eyes wide and his wand arm flopping down to his side in his genuine astonishment. The boy had actually come. Had he really chosen _him_ over Potter?

"_W-Weasley_? What are you… I mean, what the …Fucking hellfire, Weasel! What in Satan's name were you thinking?! I could have killed you! Why the heck didn't you own up?"

The redhead's nervous expression was only slightly hidden by a faint, uneasy little shrug. 

"Dunno, you're pretty darn funny when you're scared stiff, Malfoy," he said, forcing a small laugh.

It wasn't funny. The boy wouldn't know a joke if it walloped him in the face and then began to do an Irish jig for him. Draco turned away from the maddening look, sighing deeply through his nose and grinding his teeth. Great. Now, because of the idiot Gryffindor, his jaw had joined the other parts of his body that were aching dully. Why didn't the Slytherin hex his own leg clean off, just to make things extra peachy? 

He hated this. Why the moron couldn't ever come right out and say what was on his mind was beyond Draco. After all, he was usually so horribly upfront. Why did he even bother being so nauseatingly friendly? Why did the Weasel always have to try and slowly break the ice between them? The ice that Draco himself emanated there? The Slytherin didn't want it broken. At least, not in _that_ way anyway. He wanted it to get so rock solid that it would explode with its own pressure. He wanted a solution founded in violence. He wanted… fuck, he didn't know what he wanted. But he didn't want this. This forced civility. 

What had happened to the passion they'd once had? They can't have had already turned boring, could they? Heaven forbid… coupley? No, he knew it was still there. Somewhere. Underneath it all. And he fucking wanted it back. He'd deal with all of Weasel's obvious flaws if they could just be all right again. If they could just accept each other as complete opposites and just… be. Not try and change themselves until conversations became awkward and until certain Slytherin tongues had to be held. 

He supposed this almost uncharacteristically sensible rationale also meant he had to accept Potter as Weasley's best friend, even if he hated it and wanted to slowly torture Bolt Boy most of, if not all, the time. And the most worryingly disturbing thing was that he was actually reasonably willing to accept the redhead's baggage… 

Oh fuck a duck. 

He was so Weasel obsessed that it should be directly against the law of everything decent. 

But he _would not _carry on this shitting charade. He absolutely refused to rise to the fake-cheerful banter the boy was throwing at him. Slytherins didn't banter like that. It was practically in opposition to every house rule they had. So he decided to sneer in its place.

"Why the hell are you here, Weasel?" he asked tightly, his lips pursed petulantly and his stomach doing incredibly annoying flip-flops. Fucking flip-flops… "I thought you'd made your decision by not going after me. Just like the little coward you are…"

Weasley pressed his lips together into a line, stepping tentatively forward and over the mystery object under the cloak with his palms up, as though the smaller boy would spontaneously combust any second. Or attack him like a rabid blond Chihuahua. 

"Malfoy, if… if you're talking about last night, then… Ok, listen. Just hear me out and just… just don't get how you get, ok? I stayed up with Harry after you left and…" 

Draco laughed a dry, bitter little laugh and shook his head with sardonic amusement.

"Did you now." It wasn't a question. "Nice to know you can replace me so swiftly. Well, at least you enjoyed yourself..."

"Malfoy…"

"But who needs Draco Malfoy when the famous Harry Potter is around and willing to bestow his services for free? But then again, it's not as though you _could_ pay him, could you, Weasel?"

"Malfoy, I'm warning you…" 

"So, why don't you tell me about it? Frankly, I'm quite curious. Is he a spitter or…?"

"Oh, just _SHUT UP_, will you!? Just _SHUT_ the hell _UP_!" 

He seemed to have lit a fire under the boy because Weasley practically jumped into the air like a firework, his face fierce and eyes sparking furiously. Draco's own eyes flickered down the Gryffindor. He held his breath, hoping the idiot of a boy would just bloody well lose it and attack him, punch him, snog him… _anything_. But the flame-haired Weasley only yelled at him even louder. 

"Jesus, why won't you ever let me speak?! I'm trying to be nice! I'm trying to make a bloody effort and all you do is throw it back in my face! I hate it when you get like this! And not everything is about sex, y'know! You're… you're always bloody putting words in my mouth!" 

The blond could feel the blood rushing to his pale cheeks, his body tingling and his head feeling dizzy. This was it. This is what he missed. Screw oysters, it was practically an aphrodisiac in itself. 

"Oh really!?" Draco shot back, trembling unstably in his exhilaration. "Well, words are the only things I can actually get _in_ your fucking mouth, Weasley!"

_"God dammit, Malfoy!"_ the redhead suddenly burst out, every ounce of his composure dissipated as he lunged at Draco and fisted his hands harshly into the boy's collar, pulling him hard against him. "What _is_ your problem?! Why do you have to make it so hard!?" 

"What so hard?!" Draco spat back, trying to struggle out of his grip and concurrently trying to tiptoe to advance his height as well. 

It was at times like these that he was reminded of, and slightly intimidated by, Weasley's strength as the boy practically lifted him up off the ground by the collar and sandwiched him against the nearest wall painfully. How many times had they done this? Draco had lost count. But he didn't think of anything else witty or scathing to say as he tried to catch his breath, heart hammering against his now bruised ribs as Weasley looked at him in what could only be described in one word – hatred. 

"You want to know what's hard, you little bastard?!" the redhead hissed, looking so dangerous that the blond honestly didn't know what he was going to do to him. He would not gulp. He would not let the second to last _mistake_ in a litter that practically bathed in trash make him gulp...  But oh shit, he looked scary… "Me, you pale little arse! ME!"

He was going to kill him. He knew it. Weasley was going to kill him and leave his fabulous body here to decay and feed the rodent population of Hogwarts. Draco began to squirm in obvious panic. 

"Get… get the fuck off me…!" God, the stupid and extremely peeved pauper had made him squeak! For the indifference of fucking humanity…

However, Weasley _didn't_ let go. Instead, the boy yanked the Slytherin off the wall before slamming him back against it again, making Draco's head bang hard against the plaster; cracked white chippings formed from the collision. The blond squeezed his eyes shut with the pain. Shit, this really was going further than he imagined it to. When had he ever actually been… fuck it, _frightened_ of the redhead? Why was he trembling like a bloody leaf? It must have been cold. Yes, it must have been the cold that was affecting him like this…

"Like that, Malfoy?!" Weasley mocked his own voice, shaking him with all his might until the blond's head lolled about like a corpse's, the redhead unable to see the wide pale eyes attached to it. Oh shit, this _really_ wasn't good. The blond _really_ didn't fucking like this… "Like fucking me about and not giving a shit about me and making me feel so fucking stupid?! Making me fall for you because you feel like it and ruining every plan I had for the future?! Well?! Do you?!"

"Weasley… please…" Draco choked, his breath clogging in his chest, unable to censor out the panic in his voice. "Let me go… please…" 

The Slytherin, who had closed his eyes somewhere along the line, decided to slowly open them in trepidation when he felt Weasley's hands finally still, leaving Draco with his ears ringing. He lifted his gaze up to see the blue blurs that were the taller boy's eyes… and he could see the slow realisation dawning in them. Furious anger slowly sobering into complete mortification and horror at his own actions. He let Draco go, staggering backwards as the blond sagged down against the wall, managing somehow to stay on his feet. Shit, he was astounded that he hadn't just had a seizure after all that. Draco clutched his heaving, hurting chest. He was sure he was about to have a stroke. 

Getting his breath back, the Malfoy, with difficulty, raised his throbbing head to see Weasley looking down at his own shaking hands with wide, completely lost eyes. As though they had betrayed him. The redhead then snapped his head up to look up at him with that utterly, endearingly, adorably befuddled look that the Slytherin always fell for. Fuck it, he was falling for it all over again, even though the crazy fucker had just tried to kill him. After all the death threats he liberally placed on well… _anyone _if they merely pissed him off, Draco couldn't think of one, _not one,_ at that moment as he gazed at the boy. Oh fuck this, why was he so enamoured with him?! Why couldn't he just get over this stupid phase? And _if_ he was a fag, why couldn't he have better, more expensive taste? Why not someone rich and incredibly famous like… hell, _Potter_? And he immediately answered himself. It was because Potter was a scraggy and bothersome little shit, upon whom he wished a most painful and gruesome death. While Weasley was… well, unadulterated perfection in extremely tatty clothes. 

It was as his distracting thoughts filled his head and a pained expression formed on his face, that the boy somehow didn't notice Weasley launch himself at him again.

But now he wasn't attacking him. Well, fuck him gently with a chainsaw. Now, instead, the redhead was opting to clutch him for dear life and mumble frantic nonsense into his hair. 

"Oh Christ, I didn't mean it… I didn't hurt you, did I…? ….Oh, I'm such a fucking idiot… tell me you'll forgive me, right…?"

Draco, still completely shocked out of his brain, tried to say something along the lines of… _'Weasley, you stupid crazy shit! Get off me!' _But then the blond happened to remember that any excuse to touch the boy, including when the complete maniac was slamming him against the wall (minus the very pleasant groin action) was better than nothing. Besides, Weasley turned his head, caught his mouth and began kissing him so fiercely that Draco was sure he'd pulled a muscle in his tongue. And that kind of mouthful made it quite difficult for him to form logical sentences. So he didn't try to.

He sighed and leaned against the wall, allowing his eyes to slip closed as Weasley pulled back and frenziedly covered every inch of his face with the imprint of his lips, still mumbling his inarticulate apologies and muffled declarations. Soon, long arms encircled the Slytherin possessively and pressed him tightly against a warm, hard chest. God, he was so tempted to snuggle… But no. Snuggling was bad. Snuggling is what sappy lovers did. Which they were not. No love or ghastly feelings of any kind in this relationship. No way, no day. 

But despite the many things he'd denied persistently (violently) throughout his life, the boy would agree that, with that fight, something had been let loose. An understanding. A certain acceptance. A certain _something_. A something that meant more Weasley arse for him, which Draco greatly appreciated. He gave the aforementioned body part a wicked little squeeze, just to nail the point home. However, after initially tensing under his hands, the redhead soon relaxed and began to chuckle, the sound vibrating through both their teeth. The Slytherin pulled his lips back, looking at the boy questioningly. Then he frowned. Now what the hell did he think was so sodding funny? _No one_ ever fucking laughed at him. Often with, but _never _at. He eyed the Gryffindor with an extremely childish scowl, his cheeks still tinged pink and his nose pointed up.

"Weasel, if you're so ill-mannered that you can even _consider _to laugh at my brilliant kissing technique, you'd better prepare yourself for a good hiding." The redhead ceased laughing for a bit to roll his eyes, still wearing that annoyingly cute, lopsided grin.

"Get over yourself, you enormous prat," he said good-humouredly, illustrating his seriousness by dropping a quick peck on the blond's upturned nose and watching the Slytherin wrinkle it soon afterwards. That tickled. "Actually, I was just thinking how all we had to do was beat the crap out of each other to get over this…"

Draco smiled incredibly dryly.

"Correction, Weasley. For _you_ to beat the crap out of _me_…" The redhead winced, as though the words being said physically pained him. He flushed with guilty discomfiture. 

"Jeez, Malfoy. 'Said I was sorry, didn't I?" The Slytherin studied him for a moment, turning his lips up a fraction and noting the almost defiant tone the boy's voice was taking. Some people never fucking changed. He moved languidly forward and combed his hand up and through the back of the boy's hair, pushing Weasley's head down so their noses touched. Floppy red strands tickled at his eyes.

"I just like hearing it, my dear little Weasel," he smirked, pushing the strands behind the redhead's ear. This seemed ample explanation as the Gryffindor shrugged and leaned his whole body back against him, his troublesome hair falling free again.

"Yeah, well. Whatever," he mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning his warm forehead against the blond's thoughtfully. "Either way, we got it sorted, didn't we? I didn't even need to bring it really…" He had muttered the last more to himself than Draco, now inattentively stroking the boy's hand. Eyes still closed and his body still enjoying the comfortable heat, the paler boy let out a puff of air.

"What the heck _are _you babbling on about, Weasel?" the Slytherin grumbled. He hated when he wasn't all knowing. After all, it happened so _incredibly_ rarely. Weasley moved slightly back to explain and Draco snapped his eyes open and almost mourned the loss of the touch out loud. He bit his tongue quickly though. Malfoys had self-control. And, it now appeared to the Slytherin, permanently swollen tongues. 

He felt a tug on his hand before realising that Weasley had moved back still holding it within his own larger one. His stomach knotted and there was an odd sort of silence as they both looked down at it, then caught the other's gaze again. Weasley seemed to have forgotten what he was about to explain. And despite himself, Draco ended up reddening as much as the Weasel. They had kissed, groped each other through, and inside, their trousers and even seen the other semi or, fortuitously for Weasley, completely naked. But holding hands… it just meant _more_, didn't it? Something sweet. Something a _couple_ would do. Something that would ordinarily make Draco sick. He pulled his hand away fast, not missing the upset little noise that sounded out of his… his what? Not boyfriend. Not partner. Not lover either, since that implied a hint of a relationship. 

What was the Weasel to him?

He looked at the boy closely, as though this would answer his question. Weasel was his. End of story. 

The redhead, staring intently at the ground in front of his feet, opened his mouth again, trying to carry on from where distraction had previously prevented him. 

"Err… anyway, like I was just saying…Um… yeah. Well, I came to try and get things sorted. And well… I thought that it'd be… I mean, it made sense if I… Um. So, yeah. I brought my chessboard." Draco twitched a silver brow. Well, that explained the mystery object. But what the hell did chess have to do with anything? He snorted, in an especially bad mood now since his recently clasped hand had started to tingle. It was _not _because they had something special. Weasley probably just had a skin infection of some sort. Especially being the broke bastard he was and running water being a luxury in his household. Unhygienic and revolting really. He tried to shake the feeling off.

"Chess?" he asked, his sneering pitch causing the redhead to look up at him. "I shouldn't be surprised, Weasley. It's the biggest Nancy Boy game of all time." Weasley's bashfulness was suddenly all gone as he looked quite defensive instead. He changed expressions faster than the speed of sound, did that one. He crossed his arms over his chest. 

"Really, Malfoy? That's funny, considering you're the one who keeps trying to suck on my…"

"So, why did you think that me beating you senseless at chess would fix our twisted relationship?" Draco interjected quickly, not wanting to stir certain parts of his… _character _by hearing the boy finish that sentence_._ Just the unspoken image was hard enough to bear. So to speak.

The redhead snorted, his snappy mood bringing back his confidence. And articulacy. 

"Get off your high horse, ferret boy. I happen to be pretty good." Did he know how fucking striking he was when he was all hot, bothered and irritated by everything? Oh… but no. Draco had to stop being so preoccupied by him. The Slytherin was going to stay focused. His… his _property_ was starting to get an attitude problem.

"Modest, much?" Draco asked, the drips of sarcasm from his question almost audible as he leaned back against the wall again, his arms and ankles both crossed as he tilted his head faintly to the side. Weasley barked with laughter.

"Ha! That's like Snape calling oil greasy!" Draco immediately found himself frowning at the redhead as Weasley stood there, looking quite amused with himself.

"Hey, quit that," the Slytherin warned, looking more annoyed and pouty than angry. "_No_ Snape-bashing."

The Gryffindor dropped the smile as he looked at him curiously, his eyebrows knitted and his expression suspicious. He opened his mouth but paused a little before sharing his thoughts.

"I don't get it. Why... why do you like him so much, Malfoy? It's almost like you're…" His little red-topped head seemed to have left him in the dust again as his voice slowly trailed off. Now Weasley suddenly looked revolted. "Oh bloody hell! You're not… you know…?" He couldn't seem to bring himself to continue, his complexion turning sickly and his face stuck on a horrified expression. Draco rolled his eyes. Why the heck did everyone think that? Just because he was a kiss-arse it didn't mean he… well, did it _literally_. 

"Oh, Weasley, honestly," he said condescendingly. How dim could the boy get? Why would a _straight_ boy be having a fling with his male teacher? Gryffindors were so stupid. "What sort of a pervert would think that? Besides you, obviously. Fuck, I'm the biggest pervert around and I didn't even think of it. I just like him. He's funny."

"Funny?"

"Yes, funny," Draco confirmed sourly, still looking peeved that he had to explain himself. He never had to with Crabbe and Goyle. Served him right for falling for someone who could actually spell I.Q. Damn it all. "He knows the rudest 'knock, knock' jokes known to man… But anyway, where's this board of yours then?"

Weasley blinked at the fast shift of topic. Then he blinked at the question, looking mistrustful. 

"Err… under the cloak, I guess. Why?" Draco smiled thinly.

"So you can set it up, poor boy," he said, highlighting his point by prodding the taller boy in the chest after every word. "Or are you scared of losing pathetically?" His plan was obviously a finely crafted and tempting one because Weasley seemed to smirk challengingly, shoot across the room in lightening speed and finally open his board onto a small table, Draco taking a seat opposite him. 

It was weird. Draco had mused it many a time but now he could definitely find evidence to prove it as he watched Weasley. One minute they were fighting, then they were getting off and now they were playing chess, of all things. God, they weren't only the odd couple or strange bedfellows. They happened to be seriously fucked up, as well.

The redhead was also looking up pensively at the Slytherin during frequent intervals, his nimble fingers obviously knowing where to place each piece without looking. Draco, who now sat stiffly and crossed his arms over his chest, stayed silent as he stared back. In fact, it was only until Weasley started to place the blond's black pawns on the board when the Slytherin finally snapped from being surveyed so intensely.

"What in the name of McGonagall's intact chastity belt are you gawping at, Weasel?" 

Why were Weasley's eyes twinkling like that? He didn't fucking trust it at all. Or that infuriatingly little smile the boy was fashioning with not an inkling of remorse. Stupid remorseless prat. 

"I've noticed something about you, Malfoy. Know what it is?" Draco stabbed a guess at the most likely of observations.  

"That I'm God's gift to men and women?" The redhead immediately rolled his eyes at this, although his expression lacked anger.

"Besides that." 

The Slytherin shrugged. Well, at least he admitted it. There was a time when the boy wouldn't have even dared think it, let alone say it out loud. _Especially_ to him. The blond pressed his lips together to curb the smarmy smile that was petitioning to be let loose. The Weasel had it bad for him. More than understandable that he openly admitted it. It was obvious really. 

"What is it then, my little carrot-top? Go on and astonish me." The blond leaned back into his seat slowly. Weasley lifted his glittering eyes up, which were crinkling ever so slightly with some veiled joke. 

"You swear so much it just isn't legal. And did you seriously call me carrot-top?" 

What the…? And to top things off, the cute little shit was now grinning widely at him like some naughty little brat. Was he really, _genuinely,_ criticising a Malfoy on language skills? Like those Weasleys could afford a dictionary between the ginger, raggedy lot of them…!

"I do _fucking_ not!" Weasley just smirked even more as he lowered his eyes and put his attention fully back on setting up the board again. Draco let out a loud and extremely bad tempered snort to punctuate just how cross he was but his pout slowly dissolved into something else as an idea formed inside his head. A perverse little smile overtook his fiendish features; his eyes suddenly afire and raking confidently down the seated Gryffindor. 

"You know how we can make this more interesting?" he asked casually, leaning forward on his elbows and unconsciously licking at his lips. "How about strip chess?" The redhead started, digesting the information. The wheels seemed to be leisurely turning within his head. He was beginning to understand the implications as he looked up from his pieces.

"Strip chess?" Weasley asked with mock confusion, a faint smile on his face as his wide eyes, that were feigning bewilderment, twinkled with almost animal-like hunger.

"For every Weasley piece I take, a Weasley piece of clothing has to give," the Slytherin explained very slowly as he lightly fondled his extremely willing and purring black Queen, speaking as though to someone who only understood Mermish. Someone who could also inspire him to smile like an extremely ravenous cat. It was a credit to Weasley's intelligence that he began to clock on, his grin only widening. 

"Yeah, but aren't there more Malfoy chess pieces than pieces of Malfoy clothing…?" the Gryffindor drawled back in the same tone, raising a very evocative eyebrow. Oh, his little redhead was confident that he'd win, was he? That cheeky smile only excited the Slytherin even more as he fidgeted slightly. Damn it, he was bloody admitting it now. Ronald Weasley, the quintessence of all things good and brave and loyal, made him fidget his arse off. It was quite disturbing that this didn't bother the blond too much.

"You say that like it's a disadvantage, _Weasley_." 

"I didn't say it was, _Malfoy_."

"Then quit gabbing and start putting those talented fingers of yours to better use."  

And so he did. Without taking another breath, the redhead opened with a pawn and with the smile and confidence of a player who rarely, if ever, lost. And Draco suddenly felt a niggle of misgiving. No… wait. He wasn't worried. Not in the slightest. Like that gorgeous, tattered thing could take on a boy who had chess lessons from the best tutors money could buy…! And it was a civilised, aristocratic game. Weasley probably just had the luck of the devil while placing his pieces randomly around. That thing in first year with McGonagall's chess set was probably some giant fluke… and he obviously didn't know what he was doing. Why else would he have ended up in the hospital wing while Potter walked out unscathed? Ok, Potter did nearly die, but who gave a crap about that? He'd be a walkover. 

Draco flicked his hair out of his now stony and competitive eyes. He was suddenly all seriousness. There was no way he was willing to lose this. He _never_ lost anything. His ruthlessness and fierce determination weren't ever overwhelmed and he refused to accept anything lower than an authoritative, brutal checkmate. With white chess pieces, and Weasley's ego, in chunks and ruins. In fact, he was so attentively eying his opponents' pieces and playing the safe offensive by only moving three compliant black pawns in three goes, that he didn't even observe the clear diagonal opening directed straight towards his king until… Whoa, wait a minute. Where the fuck did Weasel think he was taking that Queen of his? Didn't that idiot know that you shouldn't take your Queen out near the beginning of a game? What a novice! He was so… 

Oh fuck.

The Slytherin blinked in panic, feeling a wash of cold suddenly sweep over him. Jesus, how could he have not noticed before?! His mouth suddenly felt very dry. Oh. No. Bloody. Way. No way had Weasel just played against him with the legendary four move… the _obvious_ four move…

"Checkmate, _Malfoy_." The four-move checkmate. There were clearly no words in either world, Wizarding and muggle alike, to describe how extraordinarily smug the redhead looked as he grinned hugely then whooped like a hooligan. Draco who, for a full two and half minutes, had retreated into a phase of gaping like one would if one lived underwater, somehow managed to pull himself out of it. Then he acted with perfect Malfoy maturity. 

"You little bastard! You _obviously _cheated!" he screeched. How could this have happened?! Where the hell had this victory come from? The desperate little shit had _obviously_ charmed the board before they started playing! There was no other possible explanation. But the Gryffin_dork_ only smirked at his crazed accusation. 

"Think whatever the heck you want, Malfoy, but a deal's a deal," Weasley retorted back with a self-important smile and in a triumphant kind of voice. A voice and a manner that just oozed with pretentiousness that Draco frankly found vulgar. But the Malfoy was beginning to unconsciously allow the boy to see how disturbed he was by the defeat. And rule number #1 of being a Malfoy included hiding one's feelings if they were improper. Something Draco had oft forgotten within the last few days, including just then… But still! He never lost at anything! And chess? He practically gave the lessons! He even beat Lucius hands down…!

"No fucking way, Weasel. You expect me to believe that that game was clean? You set me up into a dirty trap! Your Queen came out of nowhere! You _so_ used a vanishing spell on it!"

Weasley was evidentially starting to get a bit tetchy because his smirk was slowly turning in a 180-degree frown and he spoke with a bite of impatience.

"It _didn't _ruddy wellcome out of nowhere, you blond nutter. Talk about a sore loser...! It's a bloody strategy, Malfoy. Look it up if you don't believe me… And now… I reckon that _someone _needs to carry out their end of the bargain." He broke into a dark, unknowingly seductive smile. He smiled _way_ too much in Draco's opinion. It was sickening really how one living person could generate that much happiness. Bloody Gryffindors. All that radiated goodness was sometimes too much for a guy to take without throwing up into the nearest cauldron. Weasley leaned forward, his head directly over the board and his grin morphing into a suggestive one. All thoughts of vomit left Draco's head immediately. "I got a pawn. So I get your robes. Fair trade, I'd say. _So take em off._"

Oh yes, that one chess piece. The least carnage in a finished game of chess he'd ever had. He had a very unsatisfied feeling in his stomach and eyed the rubble that had been his taken, still whimpering, pawn. He wanted to squash it under his foot as he scowled up at the redhead. This wasn't a fucking strip show. And he would not allow himself to be so debased. Especially by someone as lowly as Weasley. Oh yes, he knew the boy had sex on his mind, and he would have been fine with that ordinarily… But there was no way he would be the vulnerable one. No way he'd be naked when Weasley wasn't. No way he'd follow the redhead's orders.

"Make me, Weasel," Draco hissed dangerously. Weasley glared back, not looking pleased. _Plan not going as well as you hoped, Poor Boy?_

"Is that a challenge, Malfoy?" the redhead shot back. His stubborn voice steady and his lips curled in anger. His exceptional eyes swirled like a tempest. Draco let out a thin, unpleasant smile.

"_I'm_ a challenge, Weasley. And I'm not your property. I decide when and where. I initiate whatever we do. And you, my dear underprivileged sex toy, do as _I _want. Never, _ever_, the other way around."  

A hushed silence overtook the shack, contradicting its very name. 

For a minute, the only sounds discernible were two sets of heavy breathing, overlapping one another. The boys glared at each other, never saying a word. Weasley didn't look hurt. He looked furious. And Draco wondered, somewhere in the depths of his normally ruthless mind, who the Gryffindor was more angry at; the Slytherin or himself. The pale boy bit the inside of his cheek, waiting for a reaction. And by God, did he get one.

Weasley grabbed the left side of the square chess table and flung it aside to the ground with a crash, all the chess pieces flying to the floor and yelling indignantly at their usually sound master for such mistreatment. Neither boy heard them though as the Gryffindor jumped to his feet. The Slytherin looked warily up at his adversary's towering, shadow-casting frame and his outburst with honest astonishment, although he had previously anticipated them. Draco swallowed as the redhead jerked him up roughly by the hand to his feet, nearly pulling his arm out of the socket with his strength. The Slytherin would have complained and sneered about that if he could actually remember English. But all he knew was that he felt oddly winded, as though he had just run a great deal. Or perhaps a short distance, considering how amazingly unfit he was. It wasn't his fault he loathed exercise and was allergic to sweating up his impeccable clothes. Spending the whole game atop a broomstick and seeking a flying gold ball was more than enough strenuous activity in his opinion. Although Weasley seemed to be trying to prove him wrong… 

He felt another jerk on his hand and felt his body collide hard with Weasley's as the boy yanked him against him, the Gryffindor's warm mouth fiercely, almost violently, latching onto his own. Fuck, he wouldn't have pulled away for all the dark magic in the world… and Draco Malfoy had begun to draw the conclusion that Ronald Weasley was growing harder and harder to resist. Soon enough, Draco knew he would stop trying to… A scary thought he planned not to presently think about as his thoroughly bruised lips were kissed with all the brute force one could muster; one arm powerfully encircling his waist and pulling him as close as he could physically get while the other hand fisted and lost itself through the back of his platinum hair. 

It didn't take them long to find the sofa. Oh fuck it, he hated the sofa. It was the most uncomfortable place in the world. McGonagall must have chosen to place it there when she first heard he'd be residing here. Hideously dressed bitch that she was and obviously jealous of his natural God-like looks. But he didn't think about McGonagall as Weasley pushed him down on the seemingly plush three-seater chair, climbing on top so their legs were entangled and then sucking on the side of Draco's neck as frenziedly as a starving vampire, his other hand preoccupied with undoing the silver-serpent buckle on the Slytherin's belt.

"Fuck, Ron…"

Oh, Jesus… he was incoherent. Completely out of it. He actually said the redhead's first name… He never willingly said it. Gods, where the hell did Weasley learn all this…? He was fabulous… gorgeous… sexy… and so fucking brilliant with his hands. As long as he never stopped, Draco could do without anything. Food and water were so fucking overrated anyway. But Weasley must have been a Seer because he did just that. Stop.

Weasley pulled back, breathing hard and looking Draco aggressively, determinedly in the eye. The Slytherin leaned forward, placing his hand on the back of the Gryffindor's neck to pull the boy back but the redhead stayed solid. His eyes had never looked so intense.

"Say you're mine." What the fuck? And the Slytherin decided to openly share his thoughts.

"What… the… fu-aaaahhh… Jesus. _Oh Jesus_… Ron… Oh Jesus, Ron…"

"Say you belong to me," Weasley hissed through his teeth, eyes narrowed as his hands did more than just rid the Slytherin of his trousers. "Say you're _my _property. Say you're my bitch, Malfoy…"

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. Fucking hell. Try to breathe, try to breathe…  You know it's not true. You better not even bloody think of saying it. He's insignificant. He's unimportant. You don't need him. Even if he's groping you through your trousers. Nothing you couldn't do by yourself, anyway. Although that sort of thing is beneath you. No, you don't need him. You don't shitting need him…

Draco whimpered as he suddenly felt fingernails rake against the muscle on his thigh, every sense he owned heightened to the limit. When the hell had his trousers been pulled off? What year were they in again?

Gods, he needed him.

"Fuck…ing… hell… Weasel…" he groaned, trying to keep his eyes open as he felt his back automatically arching to the redhead's will. Weasley had leaned down to press his nose against Draco's own pointed one, his impressively compelling gaze still fiercely expectant, glazed with a rapacious category of lust and piercing every layer of denial the blond had ever constructed. His hot, harsh breath mixing with Draco's own. Were they even two separate people? The Slytherin closed his eyes, burying his scorching face against the warm curve of Weasley's throat, his lips pressed against his collarbone. He could hardly remember how to use his mouth for anything else but pleasuring the other boy but somehow he got the words "I'm your bitch, Weasley…" out. His brain had been incapacitated to too much mush to loosely remember what mortification felt like. But who the fuck used their brain to have sex? Lack of brain cell usage was actually the greatest cause of it. And he was going to have sex today if it killed him. Lucius and Voldemort could have walked in hand-in-hand for all he cared. 

With his face now attached to Weasley's and obviously _designed_ to remain there, Draco fumbled over the buttons of his own robes. Somehow managing to pull them off along with his shirt _and_ with a boy also sitting on his abdomen was a great achievement for even the most experienced of Wizards. What could he say? He was a natural. Then he proceeded to peel off Weasley's tatty robes and jumper. Hell, there was no fucking way he was going to deny himself something he had been forced to wait for for months. It was just as Weasley was shrugging off his thoroughly torn jeans, with help from the ever so enthusiastic Draco, when he halted. He suddenly lifted up his head and looked about the room with swift, suspicious looks, as though he heard something. 

No fucking way. 

Draco would not let that happen again. He didn't care who it was. He wasn't going to let this become another discarded chance. They were going to fucking _do_ it, whether Weasley thought it was a good idea or not…!

"Weasley… you're stopping…" Draco hissed in breathless urgency through clenched teeth, his grey eyes narrowing and his tone clearly stating that the redhead was not supposed to do so. Weasley, who up till now was all strong and authoritative, suddenly looked sheepish, looking down at Draco with embarrassment and a self-conscious red tinge on his cheeks. He shrugged his shoulders. 

"Well… we've never got this far before…" Draco blinked. Inexperience would be the last thing in the world to stop him.

"So?" he asked, still not sure where this was going and hoping for Weasel's sake that he came up with a good excuse for talking when he could be ravishing him. Weasley bit his lip, suddenly looking apprehensive.

"Well, I dunno. I guess I'm expecting a distraction or someone to barge in and catch us or something…" Was that fucking _it_? Draco sat up on his elbows and glared at him like he couldn't begin to comprehend his stupidity, his hair all over the place.

"Weasel, if you don't fuck me now, I'm going to kill you." 

Ron Weasley's eyes widened before he looked away with an incredulous look, a tiny smile slowly appearing on his flushed features. Trying to compose himself, he turned back and looked Draco resolutely in the eyes. Like a man on a serious and important mission. Without removing his eyes from the trembling Slytherin beneath him, he pulled his wand from his discarded trousers and cast a silencing and a locking charm around the room. He then lowered his head, pulled the Slytherin hard against him and, for once in his life, did exactly what Draco Malfoy told him to do.

***

"Malfoy…?" There was a soft whisper into the back of the Slytherin's damp silver hair as his warm Gryffindor tenderly pulled Draco's back against his chest, kissing his pale neck. The blond slipped his drooping eyelids shut, contentedly.

"Weasley," he mumbled back tiredly. There seemed to be a sizeable pause before the redhead continued.

"You Ok…?" the boy asked hesitantly. Draco tried to smirk, although the redhead wouldn't be able to see it anyway.

"I'm in fucking pain. If I didn't enjoy that so much I'd hurt you. Ahhh… Jesus, I'll not be able to walk for a week now…" He could feel the boy's heated, blushing skin against his back as Weasley leaned his hot cheek on the back of his shoulder, a deep breath ruffling the Slytherin's hair.

"Malfoy, turn around," he beseeched in a softer voice and Draco did, however difficult it was to roll around on a three seater couch with an irresistible naked person already lying next to you. And once he turned, the blond couldn't help but stare at him. He had already decided that he hated the redhead's clothes. Anything that hid something as… well, _exquisite_ as that deserved to be shrunk in the wash or have it's colours run and threads loosen. And he'd gladly do it, too. Desecration always _had_ been a perverse little hobby of his. Incidentally, Weasley's face happened to be the last place Draco looked as he brazenly eyed every bit of the boy, the redhead glowing with embarrassment with being so closely scrutinised. He placed his long arms in an awkward position to hide himself as much as he could but the Malfoy quickly pulled his arms away. 

"Don't do that," he said, sharply. "I like looking at you." Ron looked up at him almost coyly. Strange how he was so bashful after sex. During it, the boy was a complete animal, Draco was more than happy to divulge. Just like he'd always predicted. Those fingernails scratches on his back and love bites on his neck would be there for days. The Gryffindor let out an awkward, slightly sceptical chuckle with his frank statement.

"Why? I'm not exactly all that to look at." The Slytherin immediately rolled his eyes. He hated people who couldn't appreciate their looks. And Weasley had better looks than most the people in this school. Right next to himself. And that was the biggest compliment Draco could ever give another living being. Fuck, he didn't even have to lie about it either. The boy must have been fishing for compliments. How could he _not_ know how gorgeous he was?

"Weasley, shut the fuck up," he almost snapped, although his hand busied itself by trailing feather light down, the flat of the boy's stomach. He found great enjoyment in seeing Weasley bite his lip with his actions. "Do you honestly believe a Malfoy would ever allow themselves to bugger a complete minger? We have our standards, after all." Weasley pressed his lips together, looked at him with an odd, soft twinkling expression before leaning down to kiss the curve of the Slytherin's pale, clammy throat, readjusting his body to climb atop the blond again. Draco unconsciously snuggled his face into the Gryffindor's wet red hair and traced light circular patterns on his damp, freckled back with his fingertips, feeling Weasley sigh as the Gryffindor kissed his neck softly.

"That was bloody great though," a vibration muffled against his throat. Draco snorted. The fucking understatement of the century. Weasley knew that was the best thing he'd ever done. Draco smiled. And he couldn't agree more. "Are you coming back with me now?" Well, that was a very random statement. Draco pulled only a few inches away and Weasley pulled back to look him in the eye. The blond scowled. What, and stay with the shit that was Potter and the Squib Longbottom? He didn't have any reason to go back. However, looking up at the redhead's earnest and pleading look, Draco sighed irritably. He couldn't believe he was giving in. 

"All fucking right," he grumbled. "I'll come back. But if Potter interrupts us again I'm going to turn him into a mouse and feed him to your Pig. All right?" Weasley grinned broadly at Draco's sour expression whilst shaking his head and looking as though he didn't believe a word he'd said.

"Yeah, Malfoy. Whatever you say."

*******

Draco's lips quirked as Weasley's arm automatically encircled around him, both boys disappearing under the invisibility cloak. Last time they'd hidden under here, they were trying to put as much space between them as humanly possible. Right now, with Weasley's hand brazenly resting on his bottom and his eyes glinting naughtily, the Slytherin reasoned that the situation was pretty different. Well, that was what happened when you left two horny teenaged wizards together, he supposed. 

They hurried down the empty halls of Hogwarts to get to the Gryffindor Tower, thankful that it was so early and that not even ghosts would consider venturing through the corridors at this hour of the morning, especially during the Christmas holidays. Draco smiled as Weasley, with his longer legs, purposely hurried faster, trying to make the Slytherin speed up. This only stirred the Malfoy to stop dead at random intervals and snigger as the redhead's body popped out into the open, causing the boy to yelp and scurried back frantically to cover himself with the cloak again. He was so amazingly adorable when he did that. Stupid fucking prat that he was. So Draco decided to do it at least twelve times before he tired of it (and Weasley threatening to give him a good thump in the face had nothing to do with it). They were both still smiling though as Ron whispered the password that Harry had spent a great deal of time choosing (_'Bounce, Ferret! Bounce!'_) to a half asleep Fat Lady, who just snored in response and swung the door open without even looking at them. Draco looked at her contemptuously. What shit security they had. Slytherins could easily get in. Heck, _he_ was a Slytherin. _No one could **ever** get into the Slytherin common room_, he'd recalled with a sense of pride. It would take hours as it was for a non-Slytherin to figure out which part of the wall you had to whisper the password into. With a smirk, he remembered a first year Blaise Zabini talking to the opposite wall for about half an hour before realising he'd got it wrong.

Awkwardly climbing their way through the portrait hole, they whipped the cloak off and headed upstairs to put it back in Harry's trunk. Draco had shared his opinion to Ron for them to just to burn it and never give it back but the still-glowing redhead just smiled and gave him the finger before grabbing his hand and pulling the blond upstairs with him. The Slytherin personally didn't understand why Weasley didn't see the fineness of his plan as he ascended up the mahogany steps. Making Potter cry seemed like a fabulous idea to him. And that was when he walked headlong into the redhead, who had stopped dead on the top step like a statue without even opening the door. Almost losing his balance, the Slytherin caught a handrail just in time and snarled up at the Gryffindor. Fucking hell, what was his problem? Was he trying to kill him?!

"Weasley, why the fu-" The Slytherin had to use all his willpower to stop the vulgarity from being said as Weasley turned around, looking pale and wide eyed.

"My wands vibrating." Draco couldn't help it. He found that incredibly funny. 

"Well since I did reduce you to orgasm at least three times, I'd better hope it is," he said in a self-satisfied voice. Great looking, great lover, brilliant mind… he really was a fabulous catch. He really could just marry himself sometimes… 

But Weasley just shook his head.

"No… _Harry_…" he whispered. Harry?! What the fuck did Potter have to do with anything?! If Weasley was trying to say that Potter had anything to do with any orgasm of his, he would strangle the bespectacled little bastard dead… But the redhead had already spun around and slammed the door open, running into the room like a maniac. Completely puzzled out of his normally so enlightened mind, the Malfoy hurried after him into the Fifth Year boys' dorm room. Then he froze on the spot when he looked at the scene, hearing Weasley making a stifled choke in his throat.

Jesus Christ.

Potter's bed was a completely torn apart, feathers from his pillows chillingly floating all around the room like some twisted parody of snow.  What had remained of his sheets was splattered with crimson flecks of blood and Harry Potter's trademark glasses lay broken on the floor. The shards of the dangerous-looking glass that had dislodged from the spectacles were scattered around the carpet, the wire frame completely mangled and bent out of shape. But it was the Dark Mark hovering eerily over the boy's bed that Draco saw first. The green glow illuminated the entire room with a cold chill… but where the heck was Potter? Without saying another thing, Weasley pulled out his wand with a trembling hand. 

"Locus Aperio!" he tried to croak out defiantly, his voice shaking. Fuck, he looked like he was going to cry. He looked like he was going to cry over _Potter._ Draco felt his teeth clench but then jumped back as bright red sparks suddenly shot out the redhead's wand, curving into a strange neon scarlet pattern in mid-air that Draco soon realised was English: 

_The Riddle House, Little Hangleton_

Now, where the fuck was that? But Weasley didn't look confused as he turned to Draco, all traces of the laughter that was in his eyes only a minute ago completely dissipated. 

"Tell Dumbledore Harry's at the Riddle House," he said, his face stone serious yet completely terrified at the same time. The Slytherin couldn't help it. He just had to scowl at all this Potter talk. He wasn't even in the room and Weasley was talking non-stop about him! A little voice in his head reminded him that Potter not being in the room was the _only_ reason Weasley was talking non stop about him now but he decided to completely ignore it. Draco crossed his arms over his chest childishly.

"Why don't _you_ tell him, Weasel? You're the one who's obsessed with the four-eyed shit," he asked with an angry pout, glaring in severe annoyance. But Weasley just shook his head, looking very white, yet determined.

"No, I have to go after him now." 

What the…? The Slytherin felt his shoulders, his whole demeanour, fall with those words. This was some kind of joke right? It had to be. Just after they'd finally done it, finally called some sort of truce, finally got everything sorted out… he was going to go gallivanting off to save Potter's scrawny behind? No. There was no fucking way this could be happening. And if it was… Draco wouldn't bloody allow it! And before he realised it, he grabbed onto Weasley's arm tightly.

"No!" he cried suddenly, _furiously_, irrationally, losing all composure. "I won't let you go!" Weasley, who looked shocked by the Slytherin growth on his arm, squirmed and struggled to get him off.

"Malfoy, what the hell are you doing?! _Geroff!!_ I need to help Harry…!" Harry, Harry, Harry… always fucking Harry…!

"You stupid fucking Gryffindor!" the blond practically screamed, wanting the punch the stupid boy with all the strength he had. What the hell was wrong with him?! "You'll get yourself killed!" But Weasley was a lot better at struggling than he was and soon pushed him off, starting to get angry in his frustration.

"You don't bloody get it!" he spat out, looking hysterical. "Harry'll die without me and Hermione to help him…!"

"Let him fucking die!" Draco snarled back as he latched on ferociously again, answering as though it were the simplest thing in the world. Which it _was_. "Who gives a shit about him!?" Weasley seriously looked murderous, as though he would kill Draco for that last remark.

"I give a shit, all right?" he hissed back, looking like he was honestly restraining himself from attacking the blond. "He's my best mate and Dumbledore isn't ever gonna get there in time from here! I_ can!"_ No, Draco refused to listen to reasoning of any kind. This wasn't fucking reasoning. Those idiot Gryffindors, showing off and trying to carry off their stupidity as courage. And it wasn't courage. It was madness… It was suicide! How could two teenaged wizards ever even think about going against the darkest wizard to ever walk the earth single-handed? And for all he knew, Potter was already dead and Weasley was going up against Voldemort by himself. And he hadn't even counted the Death eaters. Fuck, he hadn't even counted what _Lucius _alone could do_…_

Draco clenched his jaw very tightly, breathing through his nose.

"You're not going. _You're not._ And that's final." Ron blinked repeatedly. His mouth dropped open due to the sheer audacity of the boy and he shook his head in incredulous disbelief.

"Newsflash, Malfoy, but you're not my master. So get the bloody heck off me..."

"Make me, Weasley." The redhead yanked his arm back and Draco lost the meagre grip he'd managed to obtain. Ah shit. He was crap at this 'threatening with muscles' business. But Weasley didn't look at him angrily. The proud Gryffindor swallowed hard, eyes softening and gazing at him in a way no one ever had. Draco turned away, ignoring that strange flutter he felt. He hated getting flutters. "Don't fucking look at me like that, Weasley," he tried to sneer nastily. It sounded more like a pleading request. Focusing his vision on a particularly large stain of blood on the sheets, Draco decided that he would refuse point blank to look at the boy. This plan only lasted for a few seconds, however, since the redhead soon afterwards lifted his shaking fingers to brush awkwardly, yet gently, at the Slytherin cheek. And Draco slandered himself to every voice within his head for not being able to bring himself to turn away from him. Weasley's lip was trembling. 

"Just… just look after Pig for me and tell my family I love them." 

With one last peck on the lips, the redhead pulled his mouth away far too soon for Draco's liking. Before the Slytherin could say another thing, such as demanding for him to come back here, snog him properly, forget about Potter and stay here with him, the redhead sighed deeply, turned around and whispered another chant. Immediately, he and his wand disappeared in a blaze of light, strangely resembling the effect of a boy and his portkey. And even as Draco reached out to stop him, all he could grasp at was air. 

The Slytherin stood there very still, his hands trembling and shivering with cold perspiration. Fuck Weasley. He couldn't even apparate after him. Without thinking another thought, he bolted out of the common room, running straight towards Dumbledore's office. And he didn't give a flying fuck if anyone saw him, Draco Expelled Malfoy, tearing like a madman through the halls of Hogwarts. He had just rounded another corner when, doing something he rarely did, the boy clumsily collided head on with someone. Oh God, he'd been caught. He was sure to be kicked out for sure this time. But feeling the tight grasp on his shoulders, he soon found himself looking straight into the eyes of Severus Snape. Snape looked, if possible, even paler than usual and beside him was Dumbledore with an uncharacteristically restless look about him. Draco found the words spilling out before he could stop them, the articulacy and eloquence of the Malfoy suddenly gone.

"Professors… I… Weasley… gone…."

"Ronald has already gone after Mr Potter, hasn't he?" Dumbledore asked, the certain urgency in his normally lulling tone unnerving Draco, his aged face lined with anxiety.

"Mr Malfoy, where did he go?" Snape asked hurriedly, then gripped his shoulders tighter when he received no answer. "… Draco! Where?!" Draco cowered slightly. Was Snape really yelling at him?

"I… the … the Riddle house. Some place called the Riddle House. But I don't know why…"

They didn't stay to listen. Both men practically hiked up their robes and rushed down the left corridor, looking almost comical if the situation wasn't so morbidly serious. Well, there was no way they were going anywhere without him!! The blond hurtled after them, swallowing down salty gulps of breath as he flat-out ran. Oh, he really hated running. It made him wheeze and splutter and go annoying red and… wait! Draco hurried faster as Dumbledore and Snape opened the door to a room Draco had never even taken notice of before. It was almost camouflaged against the stone and… no! They were shutting it! They were bloody well shutting the door on _him_. Damn him for having the running ability of a girl! But, considering the earlier events of the day, it wasn't exactly his fault he was running so… unusually. Bloody Weasley and his substantial assets_._ He tried to hurry faster but he approached the two men just as the stone door closed right in his face with a loud thump, almost taking his nose with it. He didn't miss the sad look Dumbledore had given him. The look that clearly said, 'I'm sorry, but you can't come'. 

But he was not giving up there. Fuck no. When did he ever start listening to the headmaster? A normal, slightly frantic teenage boy would have ordinarily beaten at the door with his fists, hollering his lungs out and demanding entry. But for once, Draco Malfoy was actually right about his station being above the norm – he was a _wizard_. Taking out his wand from his robe pocket, he cast every unlocking charm he could think of. _Alohomora_, _Liberare, Movelas … _heck, he even tried_ Unlockus _in his desperation. None of them worked. This door obviously required a password. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Pressing his ear against the cold stone as a last resort, the Slytherin could hear the distinct sounds of… Christ. He could hear the sounds of someone, _two people_, Disapparating. But you couldn't Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts…! It was widely known knowledge unless… And then it hit him. Unless Dumbledore wisely created a Disapparation spot that he could use in emergencies. A spot that only he, and obviously Snape, knew about. And now the blond was in on the secret. But this wasn't useful to him in the slightest at the moment. Weasley had just fallen straight into the hands of the Dark Lord and certain death. And Draco wanted to kill Potter. 

Why didn't he do it before? All those times that Snitch Boy had been right in front of him… he could have just neatly wrapped his hands around his frail neck… 

He walked in a stupor back to the common room. 

Weasley was his. Not bloody Potter's. If there was anyone he should ever rescue recklessly and stupidly risk his life for, it should have been _him_. And who the heck did Weasley think he was? Sacrificing himself for other people and making Draco feel so… bloody hell, he made him feel fucking terrified. The redhead belonged to him and nobody else. And all the Slytherin could do was sit and wait until the boy came back… _if_ he ever came back. 

He was practically dead.

Draco never wanted to kill his father as much as he did now. If Lucius even touched a hair on that perfect red head of his he would rip his heart out. But he would not cry. He could feel the irritating prickle of water that was trying to free itself from out the side of his eye and viciously wiped at it, leaving a clean, blood-red scratch across his eyelid. Fucking Weasley, making him fucking feel like this. Making him unintentionally hurt himself. Getting _any type_ of emotional reaction from him... 

And the worse thing was that he was just thinking about admitting it. After years of denying it until the words he said sounded ludicrous, even to himself, he was finally about ready to say those three words. The three words the redhead had been waiting for since their first… well, first _consenting_ kiss. He sighed and walked over to the desk where Weasley had left his quills and papers, trying to ignore the traces of him all over the place. Taking a extremely raggedy quill out of its inkwell and stealing a note piece of parchment that was already etched with the redhead's doodles, Draco scribbled it down, just to make it official. 

****

**_Weasley._**

**_I am gay._**

**_Just thought you should know._**

**_Don't even dare to presume that means I love you or anything._**

**_Draco_**

Dumping it with a trembling hand on Longbottom's in tray, the Slytherin stared at it for a while.  He then turned and sat down into the armchair, his eyes fixed on the portrait hole, waiting. Waiting for what, he didn't know. He honestly didn't know what to expect from all this, but he recalled a little phrase he'd read somewhere once…

What would come would come and he, the great Draco Malfoy, would have to face it when it did. 

**_Finis_**

* * *

_Well, that's the end, peeps… Hey, it's supposed to be about him dealing with his denial and now he has. *hums to self* Oh, all right! There is a sequel… well, if you want one, that is… and if you wanna know what happens next. It's called **Resurrection** – **Still Not in Denial** and I'm still writing it. But who knows, I probably won't have time to write it. But anyway, enough about that. Book One of the Denial Series is over. (Nice swish name, no?) Man, it took long enough… I'm going to start writing a Ron/Hermione fic now… _

_But thank you all so much. You really did make this a pleasure to write. The only reason I continued was because of all the support this story got. Seriously, I have no motivation at all. I nearly gave up with the first two chapters because I only got 3 reviews. Thank you all again. Every review helped spur me on! And I can't say this without sounding stupidly shippy, but whatever… Ron/Draco forever! _


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